


Professor John Watson

by TheFellowshipOfOreos



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 56,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFellowshipOfOreos/pseuds/TheFellowshipOfOreos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is 17 years old and in his first year of university. His four years of high school had been horrible and he's hoping for a fresh new start in college. What happens when Sherlock falls for a certain biology teacher of his? Johnlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and this is a figment of my imagination.
> 
> Notes: Please read and review, I really want to hear your comments! Also, this story is set when Sherlock is 17 years old and is just in his first year of college. I actually love this idea a lot and I have plans for this omg *rubs hands together while laughing like a maniac*

Sherlock Holmes walked through the corridors of his new boarding school, holding his head up high.

Yes, he may be new and not know anyone, but he wasn't going to act all shy and confused.

Of course, he's just a college freshman, but no one has to know that. They couldn't tell by just looking at him.

Compared to all the new coming freshmen who were currently running around campus, confused and lost, Sherlock walked tall and proud through the hallways. He had woken up around 4 A.M and had gotten familiar with his surroundings. He knows were all his classes were, he knows which building his dorm is in and he knows the location of basic facilities such as the cafeteria, the main hall and the auditorium.

There was about 10 more minutes until the first bell rang for class, so he sat down on a chair outside on the Senior lawn. The weather was warm and quite sunny for a September morning and he feels like the fresh air will do him so good.

Yes, the great Sherlock Holmes was nervous.

He's always wanted to go to college but he never knew it would be this scary. Well, it's not that scary but there's just something about being inside a huge building with hundreds of other people that are doing the same thing and studying at the same time. Plus, he doesn't know anyone and he feels like he's going to be alone...again.

But he doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't want to be friendless and lonely for the next few years of college, much like he was in high school.

Except high school was bad. Really really bad. He got bullied, beaten by his peers for being a 'freak' and a 'nerd'. He didn't fight back at first, but on the last day of senior year, he cracked.

He beat those bullies. He beat them real good, and walked away with nothing but a few bruises and and a black eye. All the anger, all the pain and suffering he had endured since freshman year was all brought out when he finally got them back.

When mummy and Mycroft found out, they were more than appalled. Sherlock got a very long speech about how 'he was better than this' and that 'doing that to them made him no better'. He didn't care, frankly.

They didn't know about the teasing and cruelty he endured at school. Partly for being gay.

Sherlock had figured he was probably gay during his freshman year. Well, gay or at least bi. He started questioning himself after a little 'incident' with one of the boys in the upper-classes, James.

Sherlock had been in the loo, washing his hands and about to walk out when he turned around and bumped into James. The action caused him to trip and fall backwards towards the wall, his head and back hitting the one of the bathroom stalls.

"What the hell?!" he exclaimed rudely, the back of his head already throbbing with pain. He touched it and hissed, drawing his hands back.

"I'm-I'm sorry," James sputtered out, apologizing quickly."Didn't see you there, Sherlock."

He was standing pretty close to Sherlock, his face mere inches away from the young detective. There was silence for a while and heavy breathing from both boys.

Sherlock's mind was screaming, begging him to push the older boy off. But his body stayed put, his legs transfixed on the same spot. His breathing was uneven and heavy, and James eyes stared into his own.

Suddenly, there was a clash of lips and skin and the other boy's lips were on his own. James' lips were warm and moist and he kissed Sherlock gently, yet there was a hint of emotions and angst.

Sherlock was numb and against his mind's will, his lips parted open, giving James entrance. After a while the boy's mouth left Sherlock's lips and traveled down his neck, kissing softly and biting. Sherlock was scared...was this harassment? Was this consensual, did he want this?

Hell yes!

Did he like it? Yes. But this was wrong, it felt wrong, why was he kissing him?!

"...S-stop. Stop!" he finally managed to say, pushing the other off of him. As soon as James pulled away, the air around Sherlock was cold. He instantly regretted it and longed for James' warmth back.

James snapped out of it and his mouth hung open. "Oh my God. Oh my God, I'm so so so sorry Sherlock. I don't know what came over me. Did I hurt you?"

"N-no. No you didn't."

James ran a hand through his hair and sighed loudly. "I'm really sorry. I'll just go now, okay?"

He walked out and left Sherlock by himself.

Sherlock turned around and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was disheveled and his lips were swollen and pink. His neck was pink and red in some places and his eyes looked huge.

Hmm...Sherlock observed. Dilated pupils. Interesting.

After fixing his hair and securing his scarf closer around his neck to hide the hickeys, Sherlock walked out of the bathroom. He didn't really see much of James after that. He graduated a year after, leaving for the U.S to study abroad. Since that day, he's been questioning his sexuality and his attraction to boys.

Well. Not boys in particular, just James.

Now that he was in college, Sherlock felt like he could be out. He wasn't going to take shit from anyone who tried to bully him. He made sure to go to a college that he was sure no one he knew would be attending. He was sure of it.

"Hey, is that the freak?!" a voice suddenly rang out. A group of three boys approached Sherlock and he sighed inwardly.

It was one of the boys who tormented him during his high school years; and apparently he had a few new friends. They got closer to Sherlock and stood in front of him.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, taking out his phone. He pretended to be busy.

"Oh, so the freak has found his voice eh? Whatcha got there?" the bigger one said.

"It's obviously a phone, but you wouldn't know now would you? Seeing that you're so primitive." Sherlock answered, smirking.

"You think you're funny with all those big words you're using, eh freak? I still haven't forgotten what happened in high school you little bitch!"

"What?" Sherlock asked calmly. "That I beat you up last day of senior year?"

The two other boys started snickering, and Sherlock smirked again to see the bully blush with fury.

"You didn't beat me up, I did! You couldn't fight for shit."

"Au contraire," Sherlock started typing away on his phone. "I'm afraid I don't like to fight for excrement. That's something I'd rather leave in the loo, thank you very much."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" the burly guy asked, his nostrils flaring.

Sherlock looked up and tsked. "Wonder how they let you in college, Jeremy."

Jeremy crossed his arms. "You know what? You probably came here wanting to get away from what happened in high school, didn't you? How about I help you, hmm? I'll just go and tell everyone that you're gay."

"I'm flattered by all your attention Jeremy, but I'm afraid I'm just not attracted to you. But thanks for the chocolates and flowers, how did you know I like roses?"

Jeremy's face turned red and he fumed when he heard his friends laugh. "You know what?! Fuck you!"

Sherlock locked his phone and looked up. "I'm sure you'd like to."

He smiled, waved and walked away, the laughter and cackling fading as he walked further.

He felt like he handled that nicely.

When the first bell had rung, Sherlock was already seated inside the classroom along with other early birds. He had time to study who he was sitting next to; a girl on his left and a boy on his right.

The girl was short and had long blonde hair. She was wearing minimal makeup, jeans and a blue shirt and had a notebook already opened on her desk. She was scrolling down her phone. She looked alright. Probably 18…diabetic? Her eyes were a little sunken in her face. She probably had a chronic illness. Quiet, introverted, straight A student.

The boy on his right was sitting back in his chair, a jacket on his face. He seemed to have fallen asleep.

The class slowly started to fill up with students and Sherlock was relieved to see that none of his past 'buddies' were in his class.

The teacher suddenly barged in the room, apologizing for his lateness. He closed the door behind him and set his briefcase down and turned to the class.

"Good morning students," he said with a rich voice. "My name is John Watson, but you may call me John. Or Watson, Dr. Watson, whatever you prefer. I'll be your—yes, you in the back?"

A mousey girl stood up and winked at the teacher. "May I call you Dr. Hot stuff? 'Cause you sure are stunning."

There was a mumble of agreements and Dr. Watson smiled softly.

"If that's what you want to call me, have fun with that. But you all must call me Mr. or Dr. Watson outside of the classroom, alright?"

The class nodded.

"Good then. As I was saying before, I'm going to be your anatomy and biology teacher this year. I hope to make the best of your freshman year and I'll try my best to be a good teacher to you. This is my third year teaching at this college and I congratulate you on being accepted into this really good school. Today, I'll be assigning books and I'd like to get to know all of you and your names. Sound alright?"

"Yes," the class said in union.

"I'll be passing around an attendance sheet for this first day of school to make sure all of you are here and not skipping class. Trust me, I will find out if you skip. You'll be expected to be here every day of class, unless you have a valid reason."

The class nodded again and Dr. Watson smiled.

"I'm glad we're on the same page then. I'll be calling out your full name, so please say 'here' so I can hand you your books."

He walked over to his desk and sat down. He began calling names out alphabetically and people stood up, ready to get their textbooks and lab materials.

Sherlock sat back in his chair and stared.

He stopped listening after the teacher introduced himself.

Dr. Watson was tanned and had blond sandy hair. He wasn't tall but wasn't short either, and he had amazing eyes and a strong structured face. He was wearing jeans and a normal button down shirt, but to Sherlock he didn't look plain.

He looked handsome. Amazing, classy, well presented. Stunning, attractive.

Beautiful.

And he couldn't help staring.

"Sherlock Holmes?" Dr. Watson called out. "Is there a Sherlock Holmes in this class?"

Sherlock snapped out of it and stood up, walking towards the desk. He felt himself blush and he kept his eyes down, trying to make himself small and unnoticeable.

"Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think you weren't here." He joked, smiling at Sherlock.

Sherlock gulped and nodded quickly, glancing away. He could feel Dr. Watson's eyes linger on him a little too long and he was handed a textbook.

"Here's your textbook, don't lose it, you've payed for it already." The teacher said. "And here are this week's lab materials."

Sherlock took his things and mumbled a quick 'thank you' and walked away. He still felt the teacher's eyes on his back and his neck turned pink.

He sat down at his desk and looked down at his shoes, and bit his lips nervously. Why does this always happen to him?

When Dr. Watson finished handing out materials, he cleared his throat and said to the class, "Alright, please turn to page 394 in your textbooks."

****************************

TO BE CONTINUED! Please comment! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you guys noticed the Harry Potter reference in the last chapter haha! Yep, I'm also a Potterhead so I might sneak in a few HP references here and there :) Here's the second chapter, forgive me if I don't post chapter three tomorrow because I have finals next week! I promise to a new chapter a Wednesday. Comments are appreciated!

Sherlock rushed to his dorm building as soon as he finished his last class of the morning. He practically ran to his dorm and slammed the door behind him as soon as he entered.

He couldn't stop thinking about his teacher.

Dr. Watson, to be specific. How pathetic does that sound?

It's not like Sherlock never had a crush on someone before. He actually was attracted to a few of his peers during his junior year of high school, but he dismissed the feelings as nothing but petty little crushes. He was 15 at the time and was raging with hormones, so it made sense that he felt somewhat attracted to some people.

Even if those people were boys.

He only knows the teacher for a day, heavens, not even for a few hours; why in the world would he be attracted to him? Sure, Dr. Watson was quite the looker but he was probably married.

Or even worse, straight. He looked like he was in his late twenties, surely he would be settled down with a wife and maybe a kid or two. It would be best if Sherlock forgot about these feelings.

A loud noise snapped Sherlock out of his little daydream.

He turned around and came face to face with another boy his age. This boy sat on one of the beds in the dorm and had a laptop open in his lap. He stared at Sherlock.

"Hello, you must be Sherlock." He said, smiling.

"Depends on who's asking," Sherlock responded, walking over to a chair. He sat down and crossed his arms.

The guy chuckled. "Yeah, Jeremy warned me about you. I'm Christopher, you can call me Chris. I'll be your roommate this year. I'm actually Jeremy's brother."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he said, setting his laptop beside him. "Don't worry; I'm not a bully like him. I'm the nice brother."

Sherlock cocked his head. "Are you now?"

"Yeah, I'm not rude like my brother. Anyways, we're going to be sharing a dorm for the next year so we might as well get to know each other."

"I suppose," was Sherlock's short answer. He looked closely at Christopher and hummed silently.

"What, are you going to deduce me?"

"Deduce you?" Sherlock said slyly. "Why, I would do no such thing."

The boy stared at Sherlock and nodded. "You're interesting all right. I'm already appealed."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He chuckled and started typing on his laptop. "Jeremy was right, you're really cute."

Sherlock gaped at him and stuttered. "Excuse me?"

Christopher laughed and shook his head. "He never did tell you, did he? The little bitch! He actually liked you, all those years in high school. I told him to tell you, but he never did."

Sherlock fumed and wanted to scream. What the hell does that mean? All those four years? All those years he got pushed into the bathroom stalls, all those times he was punched and beaten and ridiculed in front of his peers; the little bastard liked him?!

Sherlock was no expert in emotions and love and subjects of the sort but he was sure that when someone liked a person, they did everything they could to please them. Not hurt them!

Sherlock took a few deep breaths and smiled stiffly at Christopher. "You have no idea what he did to me in high school, do you?"

Christopher frowned and shook his head.

"Yeah, I didn't think so." He walked over to his side of the dorm and took out a piece of chalk from his coat. He drew a line dividing the room in two and when he finished, he sighed contently, satisfied with his work.

"This," he said pointing to the line he just drew on the floor, "is my side of the room. And that," pointing to the other line, "is your side. Do not touch my stuff, do not approach my respective side of the dorm. I am only allowed to cross over to use the loo or get out, same goes for you. When Jeremy or one of your girlfriends come over, they are only allowed on your side. I will know if somebody touches my things. Yes?"

Christopher blinked a few times. "Yes mother."

"Good then," Sherlock said as he walked towards the door. "I'm going out. I have my own key so if you hear the door open, it's probably me."

And with that, he closed the door and walked towards the main grounds.

Sherlock felt like he should have been nicer to the fellow...but what was done was done. He didn't really know how to socialize and make friends and he might have come off as rude to Christopher, but that was his way of telling him that he recognized that he would have to live with him for a year and that it didn't bother him to much.

As for Jeremy, Sherlock didn't care. He didn't have any courses with him and he will certainly refuse any advances brought on by him. Really, how absurd it was that-

He didn't look where he was going and bumped into someone, sending boxes and papers flying.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going," he quickly apologized, bending over to pick a document up. He straightened up and came face to face with Dr. Watson.

He was carrying two boxes and had a few papers in his hands, and he looked overwhelmed.

"Oh, it's alright...Sherlock, is it?" he said, thanking him as he was handed the papers.

Sherlock's mouth went dry and he nodded quickly. He wanted to hand Dr. Watson his things and just walk away, but his mind wasn't working properly. His mind was a bit fuzzy and he didn't know what to say.

"Uh, yes." was what came out of his mouth. As soon as the words were out, he mentally cursed himself for saying that. How stupid did he sound right now?!

Dr. Watson hummed. "Yes, I thought so, I recognized your face. It's not everyday you see someone like you."

Sherlock frowned. "What does that mean?"

It was Dr. Watson's turn to stutter. "What I meant was, I've never seen someone as tall and structurally defined as you are. Very high cheekbones."

Sherlock stared at the teacher and didn't know what to say. He felt like he was at the top of a roller-coaster and he was about to fall. Was this a compliment?

"Are you complimenting me on my face, Dr. Watson?" Sherlock asked. He watched as the teacher stuttered even more and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"I meant-" Dr. Watson sighed deeply. "Nevermind. If you have nothing to do right now, would you please help me carry these boxes here to the lab? I'm afraid I'm not as strong as I figured I would be."

"Yes, of course," came Sherlock's eager reply. He felt strange agreeing to help him carry the boxes; but the lab wasn't that far, and he didn't have anything to do.

He took a box and began walking towards to Science department building along with Dr. Watson. It was around 5 in the afternoon and a warm breeze was blowing through.

"I've heard about you, you know." the teacher said, looking at Sherlock. He said it like it was the easiest thing to say.

Sherlock on the other hand seemed uneasy. "What have you heard?"

"A lot of things. Seems like we have a young detective on our hands here. Our very own detective in the school, hm?"

"Oh, um, yes. I suppose." he said, blushing slightly. That was definitely a compliment, wasn't it?

They arrived at the building and Dr. Watson unlocked the door. He walked ahead and Sherlock couldn't help but notice he walked with a slight limp. It wasn't very visible, but Sherlock noticed even the slightest things. He wanted to question him about it but felt like it would be rude of him to ask.

"How's your first day of classes going?" the teacher asked as they headed towards the stairs. "Have you gotten lost already?"

"It's going alright," Sherlock answered. "No, I familiarized myself with my surroundings earlier, so I never got lost...yet."

"Yet?"

"Yet."

Dr. Watson smiled, and when they arrived in front of his classroom he unlocked the door. He set the documents on the table and pointed to where Sherlock should drop the boxes.

"Thanks for the help, Sherlock." the teacher said.

Sherlock's cheeks and neck turned a lovely shade of pink and he looked away. "No problem."

"I'm looking forward to being your biology and anatomy teacher this year. I've seen your grades from your past high school; they're excellent."

"T-thank you."

The teacher smiled again and turned toward his desk. "Well, you probably have something to do now, so I won't hold you any longer. I'll see you tomorrow then."

Sherlock nodded and turned to walk out. Before he did so, he turned towards the man and cleared his throat.

"Dr. Watson?" he asked.

The teacher looked up from his papers. "Yes?"

"...Afghanistan?" Sherlock asked.

Dr. Watson looked surprised. He blinked a few times and stared at Sherlock quizzically. Finally, he nodded slowly.

"Yes," he admitted. "...how?"

Sherlock smiled softly and opened the door. He walked back towards his dorm and left a very dazed and confused Dr. Watson back in the building.

***********************************************

Thanks for the reads and reviews!


	3. Chapter 3

"Alright, I want everyone to pair up with their assigned lab partners please," Dr. Watson said to his class early Monday morning. It was raining outside and it was a cold day. The students' moods were no better either.

They all groaned and picked up their books and moved about the room, shuffling and muttering their disapproval.

Sherlock sighed as his lab partner came to sit beside him. The young lass was probably the most annoying person Sherlock has ever encountered; and that accounts for many people. Her attitude, the way she spoke, the way she carried herself; everything annoyed him. It made him want to pull his hair out, and what made it worse was that he was paired with her for lab assignments.

She giggled happily and smiled at Sherlock.

"Hey lab partner!" she exclaimed, bringing her chair closer to him. "Ready to do some labs?!"

"I suppose," came his short answer.

"My name's Liliane, if you were wondering. I'm glad to be your lab partner because you look like the type to be good in biology, Sherbert!" she giggled again and twirled a strand of her around her finger.

Sherlock's eye twitched and he counted to ten slowly.

"Sherlock."

"Eh?"

"It's Sherlock, not Sherbet. Don't call me Sherbet."

"Yeah okay," Liliane smiled.

"Let's get started on that lab then." Sherlock wanted to move on to more important subjects and get this lab over with.

"How about you do it and I just watch? I don't really want to ruin my nails," she pouted and blinked a few times. "It's really easy, you can just start doing the lab and I'll just, you know. Supervise."

Sherlock couldn't believe his ears. "How about we do it or I call Dr. Watson over and tell him what you just said and you fail your course?"

"No need to be feisty babe. And I wouldn't mind if you called him over, he's a hot piece of ass." Liliane looked over to the teacher's desk and discreetly blew a kiss towards Dr. Watson's direction. She snapped her chewing gum and turned back to look at Sherlock.

Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed in and out slowly. He counted to ten once more and finally took out the lab materials. "You know what? Let's just get this over with. We'll have to do the paper chromatography test;have you done it before?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah sure."

Sherlock labeled the paper and passed the materials to Liliane. She took them and seemed to play with them for a while; before dropping them on the floor.

"What the hell was that for?" Sherlock asked, glaring at her.

"Oops," she said innocently. She raised her hand and waved it around. "Dr. Watson! We need help here please!"

The teacher looked up from his papers and stood up. He walked over to Sherlock and Liliane and stood in front of them. "Yes? Is there a problem?"

Liliane nodded and pouted. Was she trying to be cute?

"Oh yes, Johnny. We have a little trouble with the materials. It seemed like Sherlock has dropped the materials and the beakers are broken, so I don't know what to do now."

Sherlock screamed internally. He broke the beakers? He dropped the materials and spilled the chemicals?! How dare she? What was her problem, what was she trying to do?!

"No first name basis with professors, you know that Liliane," John said, almost chuckling.

He was oblivious to Liliane's advances; but Sherlock was definitely not. The little cow was practically shoving her chest towards the teacher's direction! Her shirt was barely covering her chest and the little skirt she was wearing was practically a belt! Was she trying to flirt?!

Pathetic!

Dr. Watson turned to Sherlock and frowned. "Sherlock, that's not very common of you to break lab materials. Now I understand that accidents do happen, but-"

"No!" Sherlock interrupted, his voice a little too high. "I didn't break anything! Blamed it on me, that's what she did! I don't even know what she's trying to do but whatever it is, it's not good!"

Liliane gasped and pouted again. "I did not!"

"Alright well, it's not a problem; both of you can get a new beaker from the cabinet. However, I'd like you two to stay after class to clean up the spilled chemicals. Is that alright?" Dr. Watson asked.

Sherlock fumed but nodded stiffly, and Liliane smiled and piped up with a more than happy 'yes!'

When the teacher walked away, Liliane turned to Sherlock and grinned. "Well then, let's go get a new beaker."

"No. You'll just break it again."

"I didn't do it on purpose you know."

Sherlock scoffed. "Oh yes, the beaker just hopped from your hand and onto the floor, by magic. Yes, of course. Don't be daft."

"Whatever," she popped her chewing-gum again. "At least Dr. Hot Stuff came over. And I get to see him after class. Well. Not me only, but you tag along."

"What, do you think I want to stay after class and clean up your little mess?" Sherlock asked. "You only want to stay and flirt with him."

She smirked and fixed her hair. "It's that obvious, eh?"

"Obvious as day, that's for sure. What're you playing at? It's not working." Sherlock said haughtily.

"Of course it is," she dabbed on a fresh layer of lip gloss. "I'll just...work my way up to teacher's pet. Hmm, yes." her eyes gleamed and she smirked. "Teacher's pet."

"And what? You expect to go out with him?"

"Yes," she replied, staring at Sherlock sincerely with her green eyes. "It's happened before."

"Oh?" Sherlock cackled internally. "You've gone out with a teacher then?"

"Well yes, many times. In my junior and senior year of high school, with my hot physics teacher...hmm." she gazed off in the distance and her cheeks flushed.

"Gone out." Sherlock said, his voice free of emotions.

"Yes,"

"With a teacher."

"Uh huh."

"You do realize he should have been thrown into jail, right?"

Liliane scoffed. "Yeah but we never got caught. It was fun while it lasted and now I want a new toy to play with."

When the bell rang, the students filed out of the classroom and soon, Sherlock, Liliane and Dr. Watson were the only ones left.

The girl walked up to the teachers desk, swaying her hips slightly as she walked. "What can I- I mean we, what can we do for you?"

Dr. Watson looked up from his desk and almost chuckled. "What can you do for me? I think you mean what can you do to clean that spill of carbon peroxide on your table. Here's a towel and some water; you have 15 minutes."

He handed her the supplies and turned to Sherlock. "I'd like to speak to you please, Sherlock."

Sherlock gulped and nodded, following Dr. Watson out the class room. He glanced back to see Liliane staring at the two of them, frowning deeply and muttering some things as she cleaned.

They stood outside the classroom. The hallways were almost empty; the students already heading to their next classes. Sherlock fortunately had an unscheduled so he wasn't currently missing any courses.

"Listen, Sherlock," Dr. Watson started. "I know you didn't spill the liquids and break the beakers. That didn't seem like a thing you would do, but I couldn't only blame her. I didn't see it happen and that wouldn't really be fair of me to only punish her; even though I know you didn't do it."

Sherlock said nothing for a while before he nodded. "Okay."

The teacher sighed, looking relieved. "Good, I thought you would be mad at me or something," he joked.

Mad at him? Why would Sherlock be mad at him? Oh.

Does he care what Sherlock thinks of him? Does it matter to him what Sherlock thinks and feels toward him?

"Mad at you?" Sherlock grinned. "Why would I be?"

"Oh, I don't know. Some kids get mad at teachers when they get held back after class."

"No, it's okay. Really, it's okay." Sherlock smiled.

Dr. Watson stared for a bit too long before nodding quickly, and both of them went back into the classroom.

As soon as Sherlock's afternoon classes were over, he walked happily to his dorm. He was feeling pretty confident after chatting with Dr. Watson. He didn't think it was normal to be excited after speaking to a teacher; really, he did that practically everyday. But maybe the fact that it was Dr. Watson made Sherlock a little giddy.

Sure, he liked Dr. Watson. Well, he didn't like-like him; at least he didn't think so. But he liked his personality, his way of teaching. He made Sherlock excited to go to Biology class.

Sherlock unlocked his door, whistling a happy tune. He went in the dorm without turning on the lights, and dropped his bag off. He walked over his side of the dorm and flipped on the lamp; and yelped at the sight in front of him.

Jeremy sat on Chris' bed, reading a book. He looked up when Sherlock turned on the light.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked stiffly.

Jeremy put away his book and shrugged. "Oh you know. Reading."

"In the dark?"

"Yes."

"I'm surprised you even know how to read," Sherlock said. "Where's Christopher?"

"My brother? Is that who you're asking for?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and leaned back on the wall. "Unless your name is Christopher, I'm pretty sure I was asking about your brother. Where is he?"

"Probably out with some friends. Why?"

"You're not supposed to be here. It's not your dorm," Sherlock stated.

"Oh yeah? Who said?"

"Pretty sure it's in the rules. Who are waiting for if you know your brother's not here?"

"I'm waiting for my brother. He'll come back soon and I need to ask him something."

"Can you wait outside then?" Sherlock asked, cracking his knuckles. He felt like something was off; even if he didn't know what was. He didn't feel particularly safe with Jeremy in the room. Who knew what he was capable of?

"No, it's cold outside. I'll just wait right here. I won't even do anything, relax. I'll just read my book." Jeremy said, lifting his palms up as if retreating.

"Fine. Don't cross over to my side of the dorm." Sherlock said as he threw his coat on the bed.

"I won't. Geesh, are you some kind of control freak or something?"

"Just don't touch my stuff."

Sherlock walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind him, making sure it was locked. He sat down on the floor and thought.

He wondered why Jeremy hadn't said anything about what happened in high school. Maybe he was embarrassed to be gay. Or maybe he was closeted. Either way, Sherlock didn't give a damn. But he didn't feel comfortable with him in the room. He didn't really have anywhere to go, so the bathroom was the safest/quietest place he could think of.

It wasn't like Jeremy was going to hurt him. Right?

Why was Sherlock scared of the boy anyway? He wouldn't admit it, but he was still pretty terrified of him. Everything about him gave off bad vibes.

"Oi mate! What's taking you so long?" Jeremy pounded on the door, making Sherlock jump.

"Sod off!" he yelled back, turning on the faucet, pretending to be busy.

Well. If he was going to be stuck in here until Chris came back, he might as well take a shower.

Sherlock stripped down and threw his clothes on the floor, making sure once more that the door was locked. He turned on the shower and let the water warm up, then jumped in the shower.

The water was hot against his skin and dripped down his hair and into his eyes. He grabbed his soap and showered quickly, also shampooing his hair with one of his favorite shampoos.

Sherlock wouldn't admit it, but he always thought his hair was his best feature. He couldn't care less for his height, face, or eyes, but he liked his hair a lot. He didn't like to cut it off, even when it became too long and bothered him when it fell into his eyes. Of course, Mummy and Mycroft always bug him about it until he goes and trims it off a little.

He cared a lot for his hair, even if he didn't show it as much.

A while later, he turned off the shower and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his body. His clean clothes were back in the room, but no way in hell was he going to get his clothes with nothing but a towel. He quickly put his clothes back on and unlocked the door, stepping out.

He walked towards the room and stopped when he saw Jeremy and Chris talking in hushed tones on the bed.

"There you are!" Chris said, smiling at Sherlock.

"Yeah, I was right here, taking a shower."

"You sure take a long time."

Sherlock shrugged. He pointed at Jeremy and said, "Can he go now?"

Chris glanced at Jeremy. "Uh, no. He's actually sleeping over tonight."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To AriadneVenegas: I only know the US system for university (aka college here) so I'm sorry for the confusion! 
> 
> Reaaally short chapter! Please comment :)

Continued...

Chris glanced at Jeremy. "Uh, no. He's actually sleeping over tonight."

Sherlock crossed his arms. "The hell he is! I want him out!"

Christopher looked at Sherlock and shrugged. "Look, his roommate's having a girl over, and he doesn't want to be in there when stuff happens, yeah? He's decent enough to give them some privacy, so I'm letting him sleep here."

"Where is he gonna sleep then?"

Jeremy looked around the room. "I'll just sleep on the couch. Look, I promise I won't eat your food or watch TV or stay up late, okay mum?"

"You know what, fine." Sherlock walked to his bed and threw the covers over his head. "I'm going to sleep. Don't make noise and don't wake me up."

"Whatever. Goodnight." Christopher handed Jeremy a blanket and a pillow, and reached over to turn off the lamp. The two brothers exchanged a few words and bid each other goodnight, before there was silence in the dorm.

Sherlock couldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep knowing that Jeremy was in the same room as he was. Sure, Sherlock could spend hours if not days without sleeping, but he had exams in a few weeks and he felt like he needed to sleep. But how could he?

The one person he was still terrified of was in the same room as him!

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Christopher seemed to be already asleep, and Jeremy started snoring. If there's one thing Sherlock hates, it's people who snore.

No way was he sleeping tonight.

He sighed and flipped on the bedside lamp, standing up from his bed.

"Oi mate, what's the big idea?!" Christopher opened one eye and threw a pillow over his head.

"I can't sleep with that...thing snoring like a damn dog. I'm going out." Sherlock thrust his hand under his bed and pulled out his violin case. He carefully cradled it in his hands, grabbed his coat and walked towards the door.

"What's up with him?" Jeremy asked, not bothering to raise his head from under the covers.

"He's off his damn rocker, that's what he is. Go back to sleep," Christopher responded.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and slammed the door behind him on his way out. The cold winter air hit his face and his breath hung in the air. He looked around, observing the dark sky and the twinkling stars; he noticed the couples walking hand in hand towards a dorm room, and what seemed like a party in one of the buildings.

He wanted to go somewhere where he could think; and the only place he knew would be quiet at this time of the night was the music room.

And so he headed towards the Music department, his violin case in hand.

When Sherlock arrived in front of the door, he was pleasantly surprised to see it unlocked. He quickly opened the door and closed it swiftly behind him, finding himself in a dark corridor. He felt the wall beside him for a light switch and flicked it on, flooding the hallway with light.

It was dead quiet as he walked towards the violin room. He wondered why no one was here if the door was unlocked; it seemed a little creepy, but he continued anyway. If anyone was here, they weren't making any noise and certainly not playing any instruments.

Sherlock entered the piano and string instruments room and sat down on a chair. He carefully took out his violin and stroked it lightly, smiling to himself. His violin was probably his most cherished object, and the sheer beauty of it sometimes took his breath away.

He cracked his knuckles and picked up the bow, and started playing.

A soft, slow, melancholic tune; it almost brought tears to his eyes. The bow softly touched the strings of violin, teasing, playing. It seemed like a game between the violin and the bow, an untold love story, the music made between the two the saddest Sherlock has ever heard. He doesn't remember ever learning this tune.

The music trickled to an end, softly, softly, and then all at once.

"That was beautiful."

Sherlock swiveled his head around and came face to face with Dr. Watson. He felt blood rushing to his face and neck.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

Dr. Watson shrugged and leaned on the wall. "Long enough to hear you play. You're really talented, Sherlock."

Sherlock felt himself blush again, and he glanced down. "Thank you,"

The teacher came to sit beside Sherlock. "How long have you been playing?"

"I taught myself how to play when I was 5 years old. It's the one thing I cherish the most." Sherlock felt his body temperature rise when Dr. Watson sat next to him. "Do you play anything?"

Dr. Watson smiled. "Well, I don't mean to brag but I do play the piano. And the cello, but not as well as the piano."

Sherlock's eyebrow rose. "Yeah? Play something then."

"...right now?"

"Yes. There's a piano right there, right in front of you. Unless you're too scared." Sherlock smirked and set his violin back into it's case.

The teacher snorted. "I'm not scared. Fine, I'll play you something. Anything in mind?"

Sherlock fawned internally. The teacher offered to play something for him. No one ever offered to do something for him before, and here the teacher wanted him to pick a piece of music.

"...I get to pick?"

The teacher smiled. "Of course. Go on."

Sherlock hummed. "Ah, I really like Beethoven's moonlight sonata. It's really beautiful, do you think you can play it?"

"My favorite, good choice."

\-------------------------  
Important: I strongly recommend you look up Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata on youtube (if you can) and listen to it as you read the following.  
\-------------------------

And so Dr. Watson started playing. He had Sherlock mesmerized in a few seconds.

The teacher's feet rocked on the floor in tempo with the music, his head bobbing a few times. His fingers expertly touched the keys, trickling down, tracing the length before quickly dashing to another, never losing the beat. The music that emitted from the piano was so sad yet so beautiful, the emotions coursing through Sherlock's body were indescribable.

The way he played, the way he softly touched the keys; caressing them, touching them as a mother would touch her newborn baby, gently, tenderly, and with care, almost made Sherlock cry.

He never saw such tenderness in a man.

And maybe that was the moment Sherlock fell in love with John.

TO BE CONTINUED


	5. Chapter 5

Three weeks pass and Sherlock doesn't mention the little meeting he had with Dr. Watson. There isn't really anything to discuss, apart from the fact that Sherlock feels some sort of attraction towards the teacher.

But Sherlock can't discuss that with John. In fact, he can't discuss that with anyone. Dr. Watson is a teacher, and the only relationships he's allowed to have with students are strictly platonic ones.

Sherlock can't risk letting Dr. Watson lose his job and have him branded as a pedophile for life.

He's not even sure if the teacher likes him back. Hell, he doesn't even know anything about the man. He doesn't know if he's married, if he has children or if he's straight.

Normally, Sherlock is able to decipher everything about a person by just deducing them. One look is all it takes and he will know everything about your life, relationships and health. But this time, he isn't able to make out anything about Dr. Watson.

And that's a first.

Every time he looks at him, it's like a big blank. Sherlock knows he fought in Afghanistan and probably got injured; which explains his slight limp, but apart from that, that's all he could decode about John Watson.

And honestly, it just makes him mad.

He frowned and caressed his violin bow. He couldn't really be in love with Dr. Watson.

Really. Come on. How long has it been since school opened, three months?

Surely the emotions coursing through his mind every time he saw the teacher was nothing more than just...maybe Sherlock just...appreciated his teacher.

That's it then. He just appreciates his teacher a lot. And cares for him. And wouldn't mind dating him and kissing him and maybe other things.

Sherlock sighed and rested his head on his pillow. He was officially on Christmas Vacation, and he didn't really have any plans. He had tons of homework to finish and a new experiment he'd like to do. Plus, Christopher and Jeremy went home for Christmas dinner, so he has the dorm to himself for the next few days.

His thoughts were interrupted by the vibrations of his phone. Sherlock picked it up and looked at the caller I.D—sighing when he read Mycroft's name on the screen.

He picked up. "What do you want?"

"Someone's a little cranky today," Mycroft chuckled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just tell me why you've called, Mycroft. You never call me unless you want something."

"I can almost hear you rolling your eyes over the phone. And I always call you, but you never pick up."

"I'm always busy," came Sherlock's quick response. "I have stuff to do, people to see, places to be."

"I'm sure you do. Listen, mummy wants you to come over for Christmas dinner."

Sherlock snorted unattractively. "Mummy wants me to? Are you sure you're not the one who wants me to come over for dinner?"

"You never come round anymore, never visit. I'm concerned for you."

"I never come round because I go to uni and I have stuff to do."

Mycroft sighed over the phone. "Sherlock, just please come for dinner. I'm not the type to beg, but this is what I'm doing for you right now."

"And what if I say no?"

"Then I'll just come and get you myself."

Sherlock scoffed, but looked around the room uneasily. "You're not watching me are you?"

"...No."

"You pervert, I'm sure you have cameras in here! Where are they?"

"I don't have cameras installed in your room, Sherlock. I mean I don't anymore. I forgot you shared the dorm with another fellow and I've witnessed some things that were better left alone. I've removed them a long time ago."

"I knew it, you couldn't leave me alone, could you? Not even for uni!"

"Sherlock, you know I'm always concerned and worried about you and your safety, knowing you get yourself in all sorts of trouble these days. Now, I'm coming inside. You better be ready, we're leaving in five minutes."

"What?"

Sherlock looked up as the door opened wide.

Mycroft smiled and twirled his umbrella around. " 'Afternoon, little brother."

Sherlock jumped and stood back. "What are you doing here?"

"Picking you up to bring you home for dinner, of course. What else?"

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock found himself in the back of Mycroft's car in three minutes. His brother sat beside him and told the driver the directions. Soon, the car was driving away from campus and the two brothers sat beside each other in silence.

"You could've told me you were here," Sherlock mumbled, hugging his knees to his chest.

"I thought about that, but then I realized the other option was much more fun." Mycroft chuckled softly. "And Sherlock, you really should have dressed appropriately. Where are your trousers and shirt?"

"Back in the dorm."

"And the only thing you took is your violin case? You really should have taken some clothes with you. And dressed yourself, seeing as the only thing you've got on is a bed sheet." Mycroft looked at Sherlock sternly. "Are you even wearing underwear?"

"No."

"Oh for heaven's sake Sherlock!"

Sherlock shrugged. "I was planning on staying in the dorm and doing some experiments, no need for clothes when I'm alone. That is until you showed up and took me away against my wishes. You're basically kidnapping me."

The elder Holmes scoffed. "Either way. And you really should have cleaned up the place a little, it's a mess in there. It's filthy. Remember you're a Holmes, Sherlock. You don't live in a pigsty."

"No one ever comes round, except me and my roommate, so I don't need to clean up. His lady friend occasionally comes over too, and it doesn't bother her."

"Oh? Lady friend?"

"Yeah, girlfriend, lady friend, same thing."

"Interesting. What about you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock hugged the sheets around him a little tighter. "What about me?"

"Any girlfriends?" Mycroft asked.

"No."

"Ah. Boyfriend then?"

The driver snorted and choked on his own saliva. He coughed a few times, swallowing back his laughter before clearing his throat. "Sorry sir."

Mycroft turned to look at Sherlock. "You haven't answered my question."

Sherlock blushed and looked out the window. "No."

"Oh, Sherlock. Still the little virgin now aren't we?" Mycroft shook his head and looked closely at his nails.

"That's none of your business." Sherlock responded.

"No, I suppose it's not. But when I was in uni—"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stared daggers at Mycroft. "When you were in uni? That's a different story, Mycroft! It's not my fault you weren't a virgin in uni, what point are you trying to make?"

"Nothing," the man said, smirking. "Nothing at all."

"I'm not opening my legs to the first man who—" Sherlock stopped cold and paled, after realizing what came out of his mouth. He looked at his brother, whose mouth stood agape.

"What I meant was, I'm not, erm..." he tried to make an excuse for his previous statement, but what was said was said.

"Sherlock, do you have something to tell me?" the elder Holmes seriously said, laying his hand on his little brother's shoulder.

"I have nothing to tell you, why would you think I have something to tell you?" Sherlock said, stuttering a few times.

"...whenever you're ready then."

The driver looked in the rear view mirror and locked eyes with Mycroft. Mycroft looked menacingly at the driver. "This stays between us, what we've heard today, alright?"

"Y—yes sir."

"You haven't heard anything!" Sherlock's voice boomed. "Nothing, nothing at all!"

Mycroft shrugged. "Alright then. So tell me, how's uni?"

Sherlock, who was grateful for the change of subject, relaxed his posture. "Mediocre. Everyone's an idiot, it's a wonder they let some of them enter."

The other nodded in agreement. They exchanged a few more words, mostly about school and affairs back home, before an awkward silence settled in the car.

They didn't speak all the way home.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When they arrived, Mummy was already at the front door, waiting for her boys to come home. She held her arms open when she saw Sherlock come out of the car and ran to hug him.

"Oh, Sherlock!" she said, hugging him. "My little Lockie, how are you? How've you been?"

She stood back and smoothed his hair down.

"Good, mum."

"You haven't been eating, look how bone thin you are! What have they been feeding you, tea and biscuits only?" she asked, patting his cheeks. "And you're still wearing that silly sheet of yours. I guess habits don't change."

Sherlock freed himself from his mum's embrace and smiled. "How are you mummy?"

She held on to Sherlock's arm and led him inside the house, not bothering to wait for Mycroft. "I'm feeling alright, Lockie. I'm glad you're here, I've missed you."

He kissed the top of his mother's head. He always acted so gushy when he was with his mum, it was like a whole other Sherlock.

"I've missed you too, mum."


	6. Chapter 6

"Sherlock! Dinner's ready!"

Sherlock looked up from his phone and sighed. Although he had enjoyed spending the last 4 days with his mum, he doesn't like to deal with dinners.

Christmas dinners, to be specific.

Nothing ever goes right when he's invited to family gatherings. It always ends up with someone crying, someone going to the hospital, or a few broken bones here and there.

He stood up and looked down at the suit his mum had forced him to wear. It wasn't really his style, and he didn't really like the navy blue color, but he wore it anyway to please his mum. Sherlock would do anything for his mum.

He may come off as rude and a bit annoying to most people, but with his mum he tried his best to be nice. His mum's health deteriorated over the past few years and she's been in and out of hospitals, so Sherlock always did his best to cheer her up.

Mycroft, however, was just...Mycroft. Arrogant, rude, insolent and discourteous. But with his mum, he always acted his best.

That tells you a lot about the Holmes boys.

"Sherlock! Dinner's ready, mum's been calling you for the past ten minutes!" Mycroft yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and yelled back. "I said I'm coming!"

He jumped from his seat and walked down the stairs, entering the dining room. His mum looked up when he entered and she smiled warmly up at him.

"There you are!" she said, leading Sherlock to an empty seat at the dining table. "The dinner was starting to get cold."

Sherlock sat down opposite Mycroft, and looked at the dinner mum had prepared. Nothing spectacular; chicken, potatoes, salad and lasagna. But he was hungry (for once) and any food sounded good to him.

The three of them sat around the table and mum held out her hands for the boys to hold. When neither of them held it, she frowned.

"Come on boys, we have to say grace."

Mycroft scoffed and Sherlock rolled his eyes, but like good boys, they held their mum's hands. She said a quick prayer and asked God to bless her household and the dinner she had prepared. When she was done, she looked up with twinkling eyes and smiled. "Let's eat."

Soon, the clinking of knives and forks against plates filled the room. They ate in comfortable silence before Mycroft cleared his throat and looked at Sherlock.

"Mum, I do believe Sherlock has something to say to us," he began, smirking.

Sherlock paled and stared daggers at his brother. "Mycroft, if one more word comes out of your mouth, the next place you'll wake up will be in hospital."

Mum tsked. "Now Sherlock, what did I saw about making death threats? You let your brother finish what he was saying."

"Thank you mother dear," Mycroft's smirk grew wider. "Sherlock and I had a very interesting conversation on the way home today, and he mentioned something that I think you should hear."

"Oh? Do tell, Sherlock. What was it you wanted to tell me?"

Sherlock paled even more and began to sweat. He wasn't ready for this; in fact, he never believed he would ever be ready for this. Coming out to your parents is a very hard thing, and things could either go right or wrong. He doesn't know how his mum will react; she could either be okay with it or do something overly dramatic like disowning him.

He was in his first year of uni, and being disowned would probably be the worst thing that could happen to him at this time. Sherlock wanted to wait until he was done with uni to tell his mum, but it seemed like he would have to make some changes on that plan.

"Um...I don't think I'm ready to tell you this mum, could this wait after dinner?" he tried to stall things a little.

"Sherlock, you're making me worried. Is there a problem at school? Have you gotten into another fight, are you having trouble with friends?"

"Not exactly. Mum...I've known this for a very long time now but I was never ready to tell you," Sherlock began.

Mycroft sat back in his seat, holding a glass of wine in one hand, clearly enjoying this. He seemed to be basking in Sherlock's obvious discomfort and nervousness.

"Okay. I'll just say it quickly." he took a deep breath. "Mum, I'm gay."

Sherlock held his breath and waited for his mum's reaction.

Mum cut another piece of chicken and dropped it onto Sherlock's plate. She seemed unaffected by what he had just confessed.

"Mum?" Sherlock asked worriedly.

"Oh Sherlock," she said, pouring herself a glass of wine. "I'm not blind, or daft for that matter. Of course you're gay, I've always known."

It was Mycroft's turn to look surprised. He choked on his glass of wine and stared disbelievingly at his mum. "What?"

"I've always known Sherlock preferred men over women." mum repeated. "Come on now Mycroft, you're not an idiot, it's quite visible!"

Sherlock picked at his nails nervously. "So...are you okay with it?"

Mum scoffed and kissed the top of his head. "Of course I am, Lockie. Who you prefer in your bed does not bother me at all."

He flushed but sighed inwardly, relieved he had this off his back. "How long have you known?" he asked.

Mum smiled. "You never seemed the type to go after girls. I remember once, when Mycroft was 15, he and some of his friends brought home this very dirty magazine full of women—"

Mycroft blushed. "You must be mistaken, mum."

"Oh no, I remember quite well, Mycroft. Now, where was I? Oh yes, he brought home this magazine—even today I wonder where he got it—and spent hours upstairs looking at it with his friends."

Mycroft's face grew redder and he chucked his glass of wine, and poured himself another glass. Sherlock smirked and filed away this little piece of information mum had just given him about Mycroft in his mind.

"Then, he hid it under his bed and left. Now Sherlock observed the whole thing and when everyone left, he went to take a look at it. After opening the magazine and flipping through it for a while, he threw it back under the bed in disgust. Sherlock was just beginning to be a teenager and he should have been curious and interested in girls, but he never gave that dirty magazine another look."

Mum paused and looked distant for a while. "I remember instead of lusting after that pretty girl—what was her name again? Irene, I think. Instead of lusting after her like Mycroft and every other boy did, you seemed pretty interested in the neighbor's son. Oh I remember the lad! Handsome little thing he was." mum said.

"That's all?" Sherlock asked.

Mum smiled again and shook her head. "Sherlock, I'm your mother; I know many things. I just have feelings about stuff sometimes, and this I was pretty sure of."

Sherlock nodded and felt relaxed. "Okay."

"And Mycroft, that was a bit rude of you. Sherlock would have told me when he felt ready,"

Mycroft sighed and held the bridge of his nose. "Yes, mum."

"Now, who wants some cake?"

After dinner and a few exchange of gifts, the Holmes family retreated to their respective rooms. It was a quick and simple Christmas dinner—much more simple than other dinners that occurred in the Holmes residence.

Sherlock walked into his room and found Mycroft on his bed.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, crossing his arms.

Mycroft looked at his brother and sighed. "We need to talk, Sherlock. Have a seat."

Sherlock scowled but sat down anyway.

"Now, Sherlock. I know dad isn't here and I should have done this a long time ago, when you were a bit younger. Nonetheless, I'll do it now. We have to have The Talk."

Sherlock snorted. "No we don't."

"Yes, we do. You're almost 18—far too old for this but I'll have to do it anyway. I'm taking the role of dad here."

"Mycroft, I know everything already. And you don't have to worry," Sherlock paused and laughed. "I'm not getting anyone pregnant."

"Of course not. Right. Okay." Mycroft looked a little dazed. "Use protection."

Sherlock flushed. "I don't have a...boyfriend, Mycroft."

"Hmm...but you like someone, I can tell."

"N—no I don't," Sherlock looked away.

Mycroft squinted his eyes. "I may be a tad bit drunk Sherlock but I am not stupid. You have this new feeling around you. Are you sure you're not seeing anyone?"

"Yes."

He hummed. "I'll find out anyway. Good night, Sherlock."

The elder Holmes brother stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Sherlock by himself.

"Goodnight."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment!!!!

Sherlock slammed the door of the car and walked up to his dorm.

"Be good Sherlock," Mycroft said as the car started to pulled away.

Sherlock huffed and kept walking towards the campus. "Don't tell me what to do."

He shivered and held the sheet closer to his body. Mycroft and mum had begged him to wear appropriate clothing but he had refused, and now he was on the way to his room wearing nothing but a bed sheet. He's coming back just the way he left; with his sheet and violin case.

But now he really wished he'd taken the offer of some trousers and a coat; it was freezing. His breath still hung in the air and the ground glittered with frozen snow and ice leftover from the new year's snowfall.

He approached his dorm and reached into his violin case where he hid an extra key.

"...Sherlock?"

Sherlock's head snapped upwards and he came face to face with Dr. Watson.

"Dr. Watson," he said, staring at the teacher.

Sherlock's cheeks were on fire and he was sure he was redder than the shirt Dr. Watson was wearing. This—this was probably the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to him.

Here he was, standing outside his dorm room wearing nothing but a bed sheet in the middle of winter. He must have looked ridiculous.

"We have got to stop bumping into each other like that," the teacher joked, trying to lighten the mood. Sherlock nodded but kept his eyes down.

Dr. Watson's eyes ran over Sherlock's body, noticing how the sheet hugged his body in the right places. His tongue dashed out and flicked against his lower lip; an action that's always stuck with him.

He does that when he's thinking or slightly aroused.

And Dr. Watson wasn't thinking.

Sherlock felt the teacher's eyes on him. He fidgeted, his neck turning redder as the seconds progressed. Finally, he coughed awkwardly.

The teacher snapped out of it and cleared his throat. His eyes dashed back to Sherlock's face and his face was equally red.

"I'm here because you left your laptop in the science lab over break," Dr. Watson said, handing Sherlock his laptop.

Sherlock thanked him and took the laptop; their fingers touching momentarily. He jerked his hand back and held the laptop close to his chest.

He gulped a few times and smiled softly. "How rude of me; it's freezing outside. Would you like to come in?"

Dr. Watson's eyes bulged a little. "You just came back from break, I don't want to disturb you—"

"Nonsense!" Sherlock opened the door. "You were nice enough to bring me back my laptop, and I left you waiting in the cold outside. Do come in for a cup of tea."

The teacher nodded slowly and thanked him. He followed Sherlock inside the flat and stood in front of the door, his hands in his pockets. He looked around sheepishly, as if asking Sherlock for permission to sit down.

The young detective suddenly felt daring. "Please, sit down, I'll be right back."

Sherlock put his violin and laptop away and dashed to the bathroom. He silently thanked Mycroft for sending a few people over to clean the dorm a little, so at least it looked presentable. After pulling on trousers and his purple dress-shirt, he hurried to make a cup of tea.

Dr. Watson was sitting on one of the couches and had a notebook open in his lap. He looked up when Sherlock entered the room.

"Pardon me for asking, but these notes are for...?" he asked, mentioning to the notebook.

Sherlock handed the teacher a cup and sat down across from him. "For my website. I like to conduct experiments and post the results online."

"Ah," Dr. Watson sipped his tea. "I have one as well. But it's more of a blog than an experiment website."

Sherlock nodded. "How was your Christmas vacation?"

The teacher seemed to think for a while before sighing. "It went alright, as Christmas dinners go. I had dinner with Harry and a few close friends."

Sherlock stiffened. "...Harry? That's nice Dr. Watson, I didn't know you were marri—"

"No!" he interrupted quickly. "No. Harry, my sister. Well, her name's actually Harriet but everyone calls her Harry. I'm not married."

A relieved sigh comes from the Sherlock; but Dr. Watson doesn't hear it.

"I apologize, that was a mistake by my part," Sherlock says, smirking under his cup of tea.

He cocked his head and ran his eyes over Dr. Watson's face, studying it. The teacher noticed it and put down his cup of tea.

"Now you're deducing me," he said, chuckling softly.

"It appears that I am," came the other's response.

"Really? I'd like to hear what you're deducing right now. I have yet to meet a man who can figure out bits and pieces of my life just by looking at me. People have tried, but they never succeeded."

The atmosphere in the room suddenly changed.

Sherlock hummed. "I may not be able to deduce everything about you, but I can figure out some things."

"Have a go."

"Alright. You just said you spent Christmas with your sister and a few friends; no mention of any parents or family members, so I suspect you're not close to your family at all. Or it may be that your parents have passed away and you're left to spend Christmas with your family, but there is no mention of them—meaning that there must have been a family feud sometime between the last 10 years and now."

The teacher blinked a few times.

"Then, I suggested that you were married, and you told me no. But what you didn't notice was that I suggested that you were married to someone named Harry; a person I thought was a man before you told me that she was in fact a woman and your sister. If I suggested that to someone else, they would first defend themselves and claim not to be homosexual, but you didn't do that. You never did, the only thing you corrected was the fact that this Harry was a woman. Which brings us to one conclusion—pardon my forwardness Dr. Watson, but I deduce that you are in fact gay, or bisexual."

Dr. Watson stared at Sherlock for a while before chuckling. "That's bloody amazing."

Sherlock sipped his tea. "Is it?"

"Of course it is. No one has ever figured that about me before. You're the first to know about my family troubles; and hell, you're my student."

"So was I right?" Sherlock asked.

"You were right about my family; we were never close. My parents passed away, but before they did, they disowned me and Harry and we were forced to live with a close family friend until we moved on to uni. My family never really accepted me or my sister."

"...disowned?"

Dr. Watson sighed. "Yeah. Harry came out to our parents when she was 15, and they shunned her for years. It scared me and I was never able to tell them...even today, I could never tell my friends or family."

"That you're gay."

"That I'm bisexual, not gay. I've known since...hell, I've known since I was around 10. Back then nobody educated children about different sexualities, you know? It was either you're gay or lesbian. But I did some research and I found out about other things and decided that bisexual was the one term that defined me. And even today, the only person who knows is Harry. Well, and now you do too."

Sherlock nodded. He felt trusted with this piece of information.

"I was teased a lot for it in school. Some people were out as gay or lesbian, but you could search the entire school and there would be no bisexuals or any other minority of the LGBT community. No one else but me. People believed that bisexuals were nothing but little attention whores—pardon my French—who couldn't pick a side." He scoffed.

There was silence in the room.

"This is the most I've ever told someone," the teacher revealed as he stared at Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded once again. "...Thank you for trusting me, ."

Dr. Watson smiled warmly. "And thank you for listening, Sherlock. It felt good to talk about it after holding it in for so long. And please, call me John. You know a lot about me now, there's no need for formality anymore—except in class, of course."

"Alright then...John."

Sherlock rolled the name around in his mouth and familiarized himself with it. It fit the teacher perfectly.

John grinned again and stood up. "Well this was a nice cup of tea. Thank you, Sherlock. I'll be on my way now."

The young detective stood up as well and walked the teacher out. "You're welcome,"

"And don't forget to do your assigned lab, it's due Monday," John reminded, stepping out and pulling on his coat.

"Already done, Dr. Watson. The lab was quite interesting."

"I'm glad it was then. Oh, and happy new year." John smiled one last time and walked away, heading for the parking lot.

"Happy new year to you too,"

Sherlock bid him goodnight and closed the door. He then ran to his window and peered under the blinds, watching the teacher get into his car and drive out.

That's one more thing to file in his mind about the teacher; John doesn't live on campus. He must have a flat or a house nearby.

He sat on his bed and held his hands together under his nose. Well.

The events of the past half hour were certainly interesting. Sherlock found out a lot about his teacher—more than he would have if he tried to deduce him on his own. He felt giddy to know that someone trusted him with a secret. And he's now allowed to break the strict rule of no first name basis with teachers; he's allowed to call him John.

Does that mean they're friends?

He wonders if John knows that he's gay. Sherlock doesn't make things clear sometimes and just beats around the bush at times instead of coming out and saying things straight to your face. He does that with things he considers personal or embarrassing.

Sherlock's aware of his attraction to the teacher, but he doesn't know if he wants John to be aware of it or not.

He sighed and leaned back on his pillow. A quick nap would sort things out.

A few hours later, Sherlock was awakened by a quick knock at the door.

He sighed and turned around in his bed. "What?!"

"Open the door, it's Chris!" the voice sounded far.

"You have your own key!" he shouted back.

"I lost it! Come on Sherlock, it's cold outside!"

Sherlock groaned and walked towards the door. He quickly unlocked it and walked back to his bed.

"Hello to you too," Christopher said as he walked in, Jeremy in tow.

"Why does he have to be here again?" Sherlock pointed at Jeremy.

Christopher shrugged, but his eyes twinkled. "Oh come on Sherlock, he's my brother."

Sherlock squinted his eyes and stared at the both of them. "Something's up. I know it."

Jeremy wiped his hands on his jeans and seemed uncomfortable. "Uh, yeah..."

"Spit it out, I want to get back to sleep," Sherlock grumbled, still groggy from his awakening.

Christopher smirked. "I have to use the loo, I'll be back."

That comment made Sherlock more aware of his surroundings and he sat up, inching his body away from Jeremy.

"Uh, erm..." Jeremy stuttered and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sherlock, can I ask you something?"

"Look, just ask me whatever you wanted to ask me and let me go back to sleep." Sherlock turned to face him.

"Fine." Jeremy took a deep breath. "Sherlock, would you go out with me?"


	8. Chapter 8

"I'm sorry, what?" Sherlock sat up on his bed, dumbfounded.

Jeremy sighed and glanced away. "You heard me, I don't have to repeat myself..."

"You want to go out with me? Where the hell did that come from?!" Sherlock stared at Jeremy angrily. "You just decided one day, 'Oh, I'd like to see what it would be like to date Sherlock' and expect me to say yes?!"

"No, but—"

"You never liked me, Jeremy. The things you made me go through in high school weren't right." Sherlock hugged his knees and inched his body further away from the boy.

"So you're saying no?"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but yes, I'm saying no."

Jeremy suddenly turned red and his nostrils flared. "You know what? You can go fuck yourself Sherlock! You think you're all that, and you're too good for anybody else?"

"I never said that!" Sherlock almost yelled. "I just told you I'm not interested. Kindly respect my wishes and leave me alone."

Jeremy flipped his middle finger up and practically stomped out the room, slamming the door on his way out. As soon as he left, Christopher came out the bathroom.

"So?" he asked. "I heard some yelling. Is everything alright?"

"Like hell everything's alright! You knew about this didn't you?" Sherlock asked.

"Well...yeah. Did you say yes?"

"No. Why should I?"

"Because," Chris started to say, moving to sit down opposite Sherlock's bed. "...Jeremy can be mean, but he's alright."

"That doesn't mean anything."

Christopher sighed. "He's a good guy, Sherlock. He just doesn't know how to be affectionate sometimes."

Sherlock snorted at that. "Yeah, beating someone up and constantly bullying them sure is a sign of affection. Yep. Must have missed that somewhere."

"He never got any affection or love as a kid...neither did I. He doesn't know how to properly treat someone he likes, Sherlock. He just doesn't." Christopher's voice almost cracked. "Neither do I, but that's different."

Sherlock stilled and looked at Chris. "Look, I'm—I'm really sorry about that. I really am."

"You don't know anything."

"I do, actually. I understand," Sherlock said, trying to sound less angry.

"No you fucking don't." Christopher's voice rose an octave and he looked away from the young detective. This made Sherlock sigh.

"Look, I know your mum's an alcoholic. I know your dad isn't here and wasn't part of your childhood. I know you practically had to raise Jeremy on your own. It wasn't easy. But that's not the reason why I said no—"

"How the hell do you know that?!" he asked.

"I know lots of things, let's leave it at that. But it isn't your fault."

There was silence for a while.

"...you're not really good at making people feel better," Christopher finally said, smiling softly.

This made Sherlock smirk knowingly. "I know. Now, I'd like to get back to sleep so please turn off the light."

"Yeah yeah, sure." Christopher turned off the lamp and the dorm room became pitch black. "Goodnight. And it's alright if you said no to Jeremy. I'm not mad."

"Goodnight."

Sherlock turned on his back and put his hands under his head. This had to be the one of the most interesting thing that has happened to him since he started school. Well, apart from meeting Dr. Watson of course.

Jeremy asking him out was just...random. It just came out of nowhere; it wasn't even something Sherlock foresaw. Sherlock would never say yes to something like that. It wasn't that he didn't like Jeremy, it was just...

Actually, that was it. He didn't like Jeremy. The boy gave off bad vibes and always seemed to be plotting something, and his infatuation with Sherlock (as much as it was wrong), made him feel uncomfortable. Jeremy couldn't have liked Sherlock since high school; the way he treated him wasn't something done out of love; it has hatred. Jealousy, maybe?

Either way, Sherlock was happy he stood up for himself and said no. Now, the only thing he needs to remember is to tell Christopher that Jeremy can't sleep here anymore...

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The alarm blared, sending Sherlock tumbling down to the floor. His head pounded with the early signs of a migraine as he looked at the afternoon sun peaking through the curtains...afternoon sun.

Afternoon sun.

"Bloody hell!" he yelled, jumping up from the floor. He overslept!

"Oi mate, shut up! It's too early for this!" Christopher complained, pulling the covers over his head.

Sherlock scrambled up and grabbed the alarm clock off the nightstand. It read 12:15—meaning he missed his first two classes of the day; physical education and math.

"It's sodding twelve in the afternoon, wake up!" Sherlock threw his pillow towards Christopher's direction and ran to the bathroom.

"I have afternoon classes today!" Chris yelled back. "Did you miss any of your classes?"

"I've missed P.E and math!" Sherlock answered as he got ready as fast as he could in the bathroom.

"Just tell them you're sick or you're hungover or something! It's not that big of a deal."

Sherlock ran back in the bathroom and grabbed his laptop and bag. He managed to quickly clean up and dress, looking at least decent.

"Don't freak out," Chris laughed. "What class do you have now?"

Sherlock pulled on his shoes. "Art."

"You bloody poof! Art!" Christopher laughed even more.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and hurried out the door. It took him 5 minutes before he arrived at the Art building, and he rushed in before the bell rang.

He quickly sat down at his original seat and sighed; relieved he arrived before the class started. The class was already full and everyone was waiting for the art teacher, Madame Levine.

To be honest, Sherlock doesn't like art. He doesn't have time to draw or paint or do things of the sort; the only reason he's here is because Mycroft talked him into signing up for it.

He sighed and arranged the easel in front of him.

"Bonjour everyone!" the teacher said as she walked in the room. "Sorry for being late, but I had to go and get my model for today's assignment."

This sparked Sherlock's attention.

"Everyone, meet Irene. She's agreed to be our model for today's lesson on drawing anatomy."

Irene stood in front of the classroom in a white bathrobe and she smiled to the class. Everyone smiled back at her and there were a few wolf whistles coming from the back of the room.

Madame Levine tsked. "Now, none of that. She has agreed to be our nude model, and we artists respect human bodies."

Sherlock looked at Irene up and down, trying to figure out things about her. She wasn't that interesting. She was 19 years old and had long brown curly hair that she had pinned up. She wore red lipstick and minimal eye makeup and her face looked pale.

She smiled and unfastened the bathrobe, letting it pool at her feet. The entire class focused on her as she sat down on pedestal. She seemed at ease, as if it were something she did everyday.

Sherlock smirked. She probably did.

Her body was not as pale as her face. Her skin was creamy and she was quite curvy; her feminine features were beautifully defined. It wasn't everyday that Sherlock appreciated a woman's feminine features.

But this Irene was something else.

He looked around and noticed that everyone had started drawing already. The teacher was going around commenting on people's drawing styles. Sherlock wasn't an artist, but if he had to draw, he could. He wasn't half bad.

He felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Hey mate, do you have a charcoal pencil I could borrow?"

Sherlock turned around to face the boy behind him.

He was his age but was a bit shorter than him. He sported blonde curly hair and striking black eyes, and seemed to wallow under Sherlock's stare.

"Sure." Sherlock handed him a pencil, taking a glance at his drawing. This boy had already finished with her legs and was starting with her waist; he was a very good artist.

"My name's Patrick." the boy held his hand out, expecting Sherlock to shake it. When Sherlock didn't, he awkwardly retreated it.

"I'm sorry, I was just looking at your drawing," Sherlock apologized. "You're really good."

Patrick smiled. "Yeah? Thank you...Sherlock, is it?"

Sherlock blinked a few times. "Uh, yeah."

"Don't worry, I'm not a stalker. I just happened to glance at the name on your easel." he smiled and returned to his drawing.

Sherlock nodded and picked up his pencil, intending to start on his drawing. He placed the pencil on the paper and drew a small line, before he looked up.

He felt someone's eyes on him; he felt them looking at him, he could almost feel the heaviness of the stare on his body. He quickly glanced around the room and found the source of his uneasiness.

Irene.

She smiled when she noticed Sherlock looked back at her. Sherlock tried to go back to work and ignore her; but it was hard to do since he had to occasionally glance back at her every so often to keep drawing.

She kept staring the entire length of the class. When the bell rung, Sherlock quickly packed up his supplies and cleaned up, before he headed off to his next class. When he turned around, he bumped into someone.

He apologized and was about to keep walking until he saw who it was.

"Hi," she said, smiling that smile Sherlock had learned to recognize over the past hour and a half. She had her bathrobe back on and her hair was down.

"Hello," Sherlock responded.

"I've never seen you here before,"

Sherlock almost smirked. "That's because it's the first time you're here."

"So, I'm in the company of the great Sherlock Holmes, hmm?"

"And you know my name because...?"

She smiled and loosed her bathrobe a little. "Because I do. I've noticed you've kept looking at me during class, Mr. Holmes."

"On the contrary," Sherlock frowned. "You kept looking at me."

"Hah," she laughed. "Could it be that you fancy me a little, Sherlock?"

"Please." Sherlock scanned her with his eyes quickly and came to a conclusion. "You're lesbian."

She seemed unfazed by this. "And you're gay. The point is?"

"The point is, I'm not attracted to women."

She stared at him with her piercing eyes. "I could have you on this desk right here, Sherlock. Right here, right now."

"I'm 17."

Irene chuckled and played with her nails. "Again, my dear. Your point?"

"Well," Sherlock started. "Maybe I'm in a committed relationship right now."

"Oh come on, Sherlock." she scoffed. "You're a virgin."

Sherlock frowned but listened.

"You reek of it. It's displayed on your face, the way you walk and talk. You're a virgin." Irene repeated.

"I'm going to go now," Sherlock said, turning around. He started to walk towards his next class.

"Alright, well don't forget about my little offer! It's still up!" Irene waved at Sherlock, then went her own way.

Sherlock walked faster, silently praying he wasn't late for his next class.

Bloody hell, it seemed like everyone wanted to get into his pants these days.


	9. Chapter 9

**TRIGGER WARNING FOR CUTTING. Nothing explicit, but I feel a trigger warning is necessary for such a touchy subject.**

* * *

Sherlock sat down at the table, sipping his hot tea. He looked at the university's campus from where he was sitting; a small restaurant across the school. He often came here during his lunch break for a hot cup of tea or a bite or two to eat.

A person came to stand next to him. It was that boy, Patrick, from art class and this time he had a girl with him.

"Mind if we sit here?" he asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down before Sherlock even had the time to answer. The girl sat beside Patrick.

"Well, you're not giving me much of a choice are you?" Sherlock took another sip of his hot beverage. The girl smiled.

"I'm Cathy," she said, tucking a strand of her red hair behind her ear.

"Oh, yeah. Cathy, that's Sherlock," Patrick mumbled, his lips too busy with a cigarette.

Sherlock nodded his acknowledgment but kept his eyes fixated on Patrick's cigarette. It's been three weeks since Sherlock had smoked. He had tried to break his habit before but it's so hard...he's been smoke free for three weeks. And now the smell drifting from the cigarette made Sherlock's mind scream with envy.

He must have looked dazed for a second because next thing he knew, Cathy and Patrick were looking at him strangely.

"You okay mate?"

Sherlock pulled his eyes away from the tempting cigarette. "Yeah. I just haven't smoked in three weeks...I'm trying to quit."

Patrick snorted and took a deep breath, blowing the smoke out in a ring. "Why the hell are you quitting for?"

Sherlock frowned but didn't answer. _Why_ was he quitting? Was it just to please Mycroft? That was what his elder brother and mummy wanted, but was it what _he_ wanted? Sure, smoking was a form of self destructive behavior and it made your clothes smell rather bad, but that was it.

"Come on," Patrick taunted, waving a cigarette in his face. "You know you want it. Just one. It's exam season in a while anyway, plus it's a good stress reliever. You deserve it."

Sherlock cracked and snatched the cigarette from his hands. He brought it close to Patrick's lighter and inhaled deeply.

" ** _Oh_ ** bloody hell that's good," he moaned, instantly relaxed. He leaned back and brought it to his lips again.

Cathy giggled. "I haven't seen you around campus."

The detective took another drag of the cigarette and sighed again contently. "Yeah. I don't go out much."

"Well you should! There's this party this weekend at our friend's place, you should totally come."

Sherlock frowned. "I don't really _do_ parties."

"Sure you do! I promise you it'll be great. Give me your phone number, I'll text you the location. I'll pick you up on Saturday at around 7, alright?" Patrick suggested.

How could Sherlock say no?

"Fine. But I'm making no promises," he grumbled, giving Patrick his phone number. When he finished his cigarette, he dropped it in the ash tray and stood up. "I have to go now, I have a class."

"See 'ya," Patrick and Cathy waved. On his way out, Sherlock turned around one last time.

"Hey Cathy?" he called out.

The girl looked up.

"You should visit your mother in hospital, she probably misses you."

Cathy's mouth became an 'o' and she stared at Sherlock. She turned to Patrick who was sporting the same face as her; they were both confused.

"How the _hell_ -"

Sherlock waved and started walking up the hill, back to his dorm room.

Idiots. It was quite simple to deduce.

* * *

Sherlock sat down on the bench in front of the science and chemistry building. The area was practically deserted due to the fact that people were already in their afternoon classes. A few people lingered around, sitting on the lawn, listening to music. A few couples kissing.

The young detective ripped the packet he had open in his lap. He pulled out three nicotine patches and lifted his sleeves up, plastering up his arms with them. He sighed, looking at his pale arm with sadness.

He hated his arms. He hated his body, but he hated his arms even more. They were pale, some parts purple and full of small cuts and scrapes in some parts. The only thing standing out from his pale skin were the blue nicotine patches he had just put on.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock jumped and frantically pulled his sleeves down. He looked up to find John looking back at him, a small concerned frown on his face. The teacher sat down on the bench next to him.

"...Sherlock, what happened? What's wrong with your arms?" John reached out and touched Sherlock's arm.

"N-nothing. Nothing's wrong." he pulled it away and cradled it in his arms.

John sighed. "Sherlock, those are nicotine patches..."

"Yeah. I'm trying to quit."

The teacher nodded and picked at the empty wrappers. "That's good."

There was an awkward silence and Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The teacher turned to him with a concerned look. His eyes were soft and understanding and he looked at him deep in the eyes.

"Sherlock, if you need to talk, I'm always here."

Sherlock nodded a bit too quickly and twiddled his thumbs.

"...Please don't hurt yourself, Sherlock. Don't hurt yourself, please."

"I'm not..." Sherlock sniffed but caught himself before a tear escaped his eyes. His voice grew an octave. "I'm not hurting myself."

"Okay," John said. He gently took Sherlock's arm in his hand and brushed his wrist softly. "Okay."

Sherlock's sleeve was still pulled up and some self inflicted lines were visible. John traced the lines and scars, softly circling them before touching the next one. His fingers, which were tough from his piano playing touched Sherlock's wrists ever so gently.

The young detective fought back tears...his touch was so gentle, so caring; he hadn't felt this kind of affection in years. No one ever suspected Sherlock of self harming himself; he was always the young, rude and intelligent detective that wasted his teenage years away in the mortuary or tracking down murderers. Sure, Sherlock avoided people and wasn't very sociable, but he wasn't _sad_.

Was he?

He remembers how young he was when he had first tried it. It was the year father had passed away and Mycroft left to go to uni, leaving Sherlock to take care of his mummy by himself. He was just a young boy of 15, he didn't know any better. He was lonely and sad, he really hated himself for what he had become.

A sad, miserable, depressed young teenager.

For a while, the drugs worked. But they quickly wore off and Sherlock needed something else to distract him, something to take his mind off things. The drugs lasted for a few months, before Mycroft found out and threatened to send Sherlock away. Then there was smoking; but that didn't last long either.

"Look. I know what you're going though. I really do." John kept tracing Sherlock's wrists slowly. "Please, try to stop. Don't ruin your beautiful body, Sherlock. Please don't."

Sherlock sniffled. He was on the verge of crying, but he didn't **_cry_**. Holmes men don't cry.

"It's okay to cry," John reassured him.

Sherlock looked up at the teacher, staring into his face with tear-flooded eyes. Oh, if he wasn't about to cry he would make a snarky remark about how cliché this was. But he didn't. He kept his mouth shut this time.

It was like no one else but him and John existed. The people on the lawn opposite them; they didn't matter. The students walking up and down the pathway to the building; they didn't matter at all.

"I don't cry."

John nodded slowly. "That's alright, Sherlock."

Sherlock blinked back the tears and sighed deeply. "Listen, you don't have to stay with me...you probably have other classes and I'm bothering you."

"Actually, we have science next. You want to come with me to the lab and get things ready for today's lesson? It'll take your mind off things for a while,"

"Sure."

He was happy for a change of subject and agreed to go with the teacher. He packed up his things and picked up his bag, standing up next to John.

"Ready?"

He nodded and followed John up the hill to the science building.

Things were going to be okay.


	10. Chapter 10

**Trigger warning for attempted rape. This chapter is actually pretty sad. :(  
**

* * *

Sherlock sat down on a chair and held his drink in his hand. He looked around the room, deducing everyone in just a few minutes.

He couldn't believe the amount of idiots stuck in this room at the time, drinking cheap whiskey and beer and smoking something that suspiciously looked like weed.

"Eh mate, why're staying over here by yerself?" Patrick slurred out, slumping down next to Sherlock. He took a swig of beer and after swallowing, brought a cigarette to his mouth.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Bored."

"Bored? Why're ye bored? You're at a party, relax and have fun!" he giggled and chugged down his drink. "You're so uptight. Here, have a drink."

"No."

"No?"

Sherlock shook his head again. "No, I don't want one."

"Why not?" Patrick asked, frowning a bit and squinting his eyes.

"Because I don't want one. Because I don't want to become like my father. _Because I don't want one._ "

Patrick lifted up his hands as if to apologize. "Alright mate..."

"I'm going out." Sherlock stood up and secured his coat around him. He found the front door and opened it, stepping out into the cold winter air. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his emergency cigarette and lighter, and quickly lit it up.

He inhaled and felt himself relax immediately, the smoke of the lit cigarette gathering around his face, blurring his eyesight for a second.

He might as well head home. The party was boring (as he had suspected before even arriving) and he had already finished deducing everyone here. He had snooped around a bit as well, learning a few things about the people who lived here.

The father was addicted to something; probably alcohol or heroin, and was having an affair. Sherlock could tell that the father and son weren't close at all and there was some history of abuse somewhere. The couple were probably out somewhere on a date, or maybe a weekend vacation.

There was no way that they would allow their son to have a college party in their home.

He took another drag and started walking towards campus. It wasn't very far from here, maybe a 10 minute walk. It was only 9 P.M, but the streets seemed deserted...he should be careful. He doesn't really know the area so well and he doesn't want to get lost.

Sherlock slipped his free hand into his pocket and felt around for his pocket knife. He felt relieved when his hand touched its' cold blade; it made him feel safe to carry it around. Sure, it was pretty small but it was sharp and if he wanted, he could hurt someone with it.

It was only for protection anyway.

Dad had given him this pocket knife when he was just 7 years old. He had already started snooping around and trying detective work at that age, and dad felt that he needed something to protect him in case something happened. The knife had been in the family, and grandfather had given it to dad when he was 14.

Sherlock took so much pride in carrying it. It was the only thing dad had ever given him, apart from the few pounds he received during birthdays and Christmas. It was one of his most prized possessions, apart from his violin of course.

He suddenly heard footsteps behind him...not too far, but too close for comfort at this time of the night. Throwing away his cigarette on the floor, he picked up his pace and tightened his grip of the knife handle. Sherlock made a quick turn and headed quickly for campus; he could already see the main building.

He wasn't far. He could make it in time.

Sherlock took a sharp turn and walked faster. He heard the footsteps behind him get faster and closer to him.

Suddenly, he turned around.

"Stop following me!"

Sherlock breathed heavily, then slowly realized who had been following him for the past 5 minutes.

Jeremy.

The boy wore a sweater and torn up jeans, and he looked angry. From what Sherlock could see, Jeremy's nostrils were flaring and his eyes were red and puffy.

"Sod off," Sherlock said as he started walking again.

Jeremy followed him again and picked up his pace.

"I said leave me alone. Can't you hear?" Sherlock asked again, stopping to face the boy.

"Why should I?"

"Oh, are you really playing this with me? Leave me alone."

"No."

Sherlock scoffed. "You're intoxicated, Jeremy."

"So?" he moved closer to the young detective.

Warning signs went off in Sherlock's mind and he stepped back. His hand slipped into his coat pocket again and he retrieved the knife.

"Step back."

Jeremy laughed. Even in his laugh he sounded drunk. "You think your little princess knife is gonna stop me?"

"Stop you from doing what?" Sherlock asked. "You better stay away from me."

"You know what? This is all your fault." Jeremy started. He inched closer to the young detective.

"Oh?"

"You think you're all special, don't you? With your little fancy coat and shoes and all. You think you're too good for me?"

Sherlock's eyebrows rose. "I—"

"Did I say you could fucking **_speak_**?!" Jeremy yelled at him.

Sherlock smirked and barely flinched. "You never said I couldn't."

"Smartass. You deserve what's coming to you."

"What's coming to me?" Sherlock eyed Jeremy. He suddenly realized what was about to happen. "Stay back."

The other laughed again and lunged at Sherlock, grabbing the detective by the collar.

Sherlock reached for his knife and swiftly cut Jeremy in the ribs. The cut wasn't deep, but it was enough to make Jeremy yelp. Yet, he didn't let go.

Jeremy stabbed Sherlock in the shoulder with something...it was small and thin. A needle. Oh God, a _needle_.

He was being drugged.

Sherlock couldn't think. The one time he really needed to think and defend himself; he couldn't. He was powerless.

"S—stop," he breathed out, his voice sounding far and faint. He couldn't move or think or defend himself. His mind went foggy and his limps were like jelly. No matter how hard he tried to push the bigger man off, he couldn't. Jeremy had him pinned to the wall.

He froze when Jeremy's hand were on his belt buckle.

"Please stop, _stop_ ,"

"Shut up you little bitch. You deserve this, you little stuck up _prude_. You think you're too good for me, don't you? Well not anymore. I'm going to have you and you can't do anything about it."

"W—why?" the words barely left Sherlock's lips.

A hand lashed out and slapped Sherlock across the face harshly.

"I said **shut up** ,"

Sherlock could smell something strong on Jeremy's breath. He tried to move again, but he had lost control over his limbs completely.

Jeremy pulled on Sherlock's trousers and let them fall to the floor with a thump. "Still think you're too good for me?" Jeremy snickered, kicking Sherlock's trousers to his left.

This was happening so fast, he hadn't had the time to fully contemplate—

By now, Sherlock was shaking and panicking, and he wanted to cry.

Why didn't he?

"Oi!" someone yelled. "Take this inside, this is private property!"

_...John?_

"J—ohn" Sherlock mumbled. Inside his mind, he was screaming.

"Shut up," Jeremy whispered. He clamped a hand down on Sherlock's mouth and turned back.

"Eh, yeah sure." he called out to John.

John however felt something was wrong. He picked up his pace. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine!" Jeremy yelled again, his voice an octave higher. He sounded nervous.

John started running as soon as he saw someone pinned to the wall. Something was wrong, something was _very_ wrong. The person wasn't moving, or talking.

"What the hell?!" he exclaimed as he reached the wall. He pushed Jeremy off and his heart almost stopped when he saw Sherlock.

"Sherlock? Are you okay? What did the bastard **_do_ ** to you?!"

Jeremy started running.

"J—ohn, he's...getting away"

John looked worried. He smoothed down Sherlock's hair and checked his pupils.

"The bastard drugged you, didn't he? I'm not letting him get away with this Sherlock, but first we have to get you somewhere safe..."

Sherlock panicked again when John reached for his discarded trousers.

"Don't...touch me."

A saddened look covered the teacher's face. "Oh, Sherlock. I won't hurt you. We need to get that nasty cut on your arm patched up..."

As if on cue, Sherlock's arm seemed like it was on fire.

"We need to tell the police. Come, Sherlock."

"N—o. No police,"

John sighed and reached for Sherlock. He carefully picked him up. "Fine, Sherlock. No cops. Come on."

Sherlock let a whimper escape his lips as John carefully carried him to the parking lot. He felt so stupid, so helpless...where was John bringing him?

"Where?"

John understood. "I'm bringing you to my apartment. I have a first aid kit there...and I'm not letting you stay by yourself in your dorm."

John put him in the back of his car and went to the front. He started his car and drove away from the campus, speeding a little.

In the back, Sherlock did everything he could not to cry. That was the first time in his life he felt so vulnerable and powerless...and he didn't like it.

Why did it happen to him? Was Jeremy right? Did he deserve this for saying no to him? ...was he really a prude?

He sniffled and closed his eyes. His limbs still felt heavy, but he could move a little. John looked in the rear view mirror worriedly.

"Shh...I'm almost home, alright? I'll take care of you. This wasn't your fault, Sherlock."

That was the last thing Sherlock remembered before he blacked out.

* * *

Sherlock woke up a few hours later. He found himself in a bed, covered with soft white sheets. Where there used to be cuts and nicotine patches on his upper arm, there now was small bandages and band aids. The cut on his arm and shoulder was patched.

He frantically checked if he still had his clothes on, and sighed relieved when he saw that his shirt was still on. He had his boxer shorts back on, and he remembered that Jeremy had thrown his trousers when...when the incident happened.

His head hammered.

"John?"

He waited and heard someone stumbling in the hallway, running to the room. John burst the door open and looked around the room. He had a silver gun in his hand.

"Sherlock, hi," he said softly, still standing in the hallway. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock nodded and hugged his knees.

John put his gun down, but still stayed in the doorway.

"Why are you standing there?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"I've...had lots of experience with people recovering from shock, Sherlock. They like their personal space." John explained.

"Oh."

"Yeah." John shifted on his feet.

"What's the gun for?"

"Oh, this? It's for protection. I have them everywhere around the flat."

Sherlock nodded again and sniffled. His throat felt dry and he looked around the room. "I'm thirsty."

"I have a cup of tea ready in the kitchen, I'll bring it to you," John said, turning around.

"No!" Sherlock yelled, jumping up from his position on the bed. "Don't leave me!"

John's face softened. "It's alright, Sherlock. I'm not leaving you...would you like to come with me to the kitchen?"

Sherlock followed close behind the teacher as they walked to the kitchen. The flat was clean and nice, and smelled faintly of cologne and peppermint tea.

John handed Sherlock a cup of tea and led him to the living room, where Sherlock sat down on the couch. He tucked his legs in beneath his body and sipped on the beverage.

"I'm...sorry for all the trouble," he whispered.

John sincerely shook his head. "There was no trouble, Sherlock."

"I let it happen. It's all my fault." tears started pooling in the younger man's eyes.

"It's not your fault, Sherlock. It's never the victim's fault. What happened was wrong, and I'll have the bastard thrown in jail for it."

Sherlock froze. "Did you tell the police?"

"No, you told me not to. So I didn't."

"...Thank you."

He sipped his tea again and tried to wipe the oncoming tears from his eyes. John was worried.

"Sherlock...do you want to talk about it?"

Sherlock shook his head and put his tea down. He stood up and moved to where John was sitting and threw his arms around the teacher.

John stilled, surprised by the sudden movement but hugged the young man back. Sherlock shook and the tears started flowing. He cried.

It had been years since he had let himself cry. He hadn't shed a tear since his father died when he was younger, and now he was letting everything out.

"I can't tell the police," he mumbled between sobs. "Not now."

John nodded and carefully patted Sherlock's back.

"If you hadn't arrived when you did..."

"Shh, Sherlock."

"An—d if Mycroft finds out, he'll skin him and his family alive."

The teacher nodded again and ran a hand through Sherlock's curls.

Everything that had been bottled up since he was 10 years old was being let out now. He cried for all he was worth, and when he was done, he looked up. His face was red and his eyes were puffy.

He looked at John's shoulder, where the fabric was soaked from his tears. He awkwardly laughed.

John looked at his shoulder and offered Sherlock a smile.

"I'll make some more tea."

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

**July 31st update: Fixed John's age :)**

**Continued~**

* * *

Sherlock sipped on his second cup of tea and sighed. He secured the blanket John had given him tightly around his shoulders and looked up at the teacher gratefully.

John smiled back. "Alright?"

The young detective nodded. "I'm okay."

They sat in amiable silence, Sherlock sipping his tea slowly and John reading the newspaper. They didn't need to speak; not really. The silence that surrounded them was comfortable.

John had given Sherlock a shock blanket earlier, and the detective had been sporting the blanket on his shoulders and back ever since.

It provided him with a sense of security; something that's been robbed off him a few hours ago...no, was it a few days ago? How long had he been here?

"John?"

"Hmm?"

"...How long have I been here? I mean, I know I just woke up an hour or so ago but..."

"You really have no idea how long you've been here?" the teacher asked, his eyebrows raised.

Sherlock shook his head no.

"Well, you blacked out last night in the car while I was driving here. I brought you in, patched up those cuts on your arms a little, and let you sleep. It's only 5 A.M, you know. " John smiled. "You've only slept a few hours."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah." Sherlock hugged his knees. "Did you sleep?"

"I'm not tired," John said nonchalantly.

Sherlock on the other hand, laughed. "You're a bad liar."

"Am I?" the teacher laughed with him. "I've never been able to worm myself out of trouble with lies. I guess I _am_ a bad liar."

"You look tired...have you even closed your eyes since I've been here?"

"To be honest, no. If I sleep and something happens, what will you do? What will _I_ do? You're a minor, I'm in charge of you."

Sherlock huffed. "I'm almost 18. And if something had happened, I would have used your gun."

"You know where I hide them?" John asked.

"Probably where everyone hides them," Sherlock responded. "Bedside drawer, under the mattress, closet...you know, the usual."

The teacher smiled again and put down his newspaper. "Are you saying I'm easy to predict?"

"No, I'm saying everyone's easy to predict."

"Is that so?"

Sherlock nodded. "It is."

"...do you even know how to use a gun?" John asked.

"Of course I do,"

"Who taught you?"

"Well, growing up my family had a lot of...let's put it this way; 'enemies'. When my father died and my brother went to uni, I had to stay home alone with my mum. She was sick at the time and I was only 15, so I had to protect myself and my mum. I had to learn how to use one."

There was silence.

"Well that got depressing really quick," John mumbled.

Sherlock shrugged. "It's alright."

"So tell me about yourself. I barely know anything about you."

"I'll tell you a bit about myself," Sherlock agreed. "If you tell me a little bit about you."

He couldn't believe he had just said that...he could feel his neck and cheeks burning pink, but he stood his ground. If John wanted to know about him, he would have to know about John. It was only fair.

John chuckled. "Alright then." He sat up on his chair and Sherlock put his tea down. "You start."

The detective frowned in thought and hummed. "Well. For starters, my name is Sherlock Holmes."

"I know that, silly."

"Fine, fine," Sherlock smiled, loosening up. "Um, I have a brother named Mycroft. He's old and annoying and cranky all the time."

"Ahh," John winced. "Brothers. I don't know how that feels like, I only have a sister. But I imagine it's kind of like your best mate who lives with you all the time."

"Trust me, it's worse."

John waited.

"Is that all?"

"What do you mean is that all?" Sherlock asked. "I told you my name, I told you I had a brother..."

"Yeah, but is that it then? That's all there is to Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

"...Yes."

"Now _you're_ the bad liar," John laughed. "There's much more to you than just your name and your brother."

"Is there?"

"Yes there is. You think about it, in the meantime I'll start."

Sherlock took the blanket off his back and nodded. "Okay."

"My name is John Hamish Watson," he started.

Sherlock stifled a snort. " _Hamish_?"

It was John's turn to blush. "Hey, I didn't get to pick that name okay? My mother has weird tastes in names. But yes, Hamish is my middle name."

The young detective couldn't stop chuckling. " _Hamish_. Oh my God. It kind of suits you though, but when I think of someone or something named _Hamish_ , I think of...oh, I don't know. Lambs? Sheep? Maybe a puppy?"

"Oh, so am I a puppy then?" the teacher smiled.

"No, you're more of a hedgehog,"

"A _hedgehog_?" John laughed. "The hell I look like a hedgehog!"

"But you do!"

"I can't win, can I?" he picked up his cup of tea and had a sip. "Next...uh, I was in the army up until a few years ago."

"I knew that," Sherlock said quietly.

"Yeah, you kinda scared me that day when you just 'guessed' I was stationed in Afghanistan. But yeah, I was in the army, but I got injured and had to leave. So I became a teacher."

"You were a sniper at one point."

John stopped. "Bloody hell, how do you know? I haven't told you yet, have I?"

"Were you planning on telling me?"

"Well I don't know, if you had asked me I would've told you."

"The way you held your gun earlier told me that you were a sniper at one point...not for the entire time, just a while for you to develop a habit of holding your gun one way."

John grinned. "Smart."

"So do you like being a teacher?"

"Less dangerous of course," John paused. "Yeah, I like it. It's interesting."

"Okay...continue."

"Would you like me to? I'm not really interesting," John revealed.

"Of course you are, go on."

Sherlock immediately caught his breath and froze; he let that one slip.

But John continued as if he hadn't heard Sherlock's earlier comment. He settled back on his chair and hummed in thought.

"I have a sister named Harry...I've told you that before haven't I?"

"Yes, you have," Sherlock said, recalling their conversation a while ago. "How old are you?"

John pretended to be offended. "How rude is it that you're asking what your teacher's age is!"

The detective raised his hands in defense. "Hey, if you want me to deduce it I'll be more than happy to,"

"I'm not old anyway," John defended himself. "I just turned 25."

"Ah, I guessed you were around 26. I was pretty close," Sherlock said.

They sat again in comfortable silence before Sherlock yawned.

"Are you tired?" John asked, clearing the table and bringing the cups to the kitchen. "You can go back to sleep."

Sherlock thought. It'll be okay if he slept a while before going back to the dorm, right? Besides, it was really early in the morning and he hadn't slept well. He could go back home when he wakes up later on...it wasn't like John was kicking him out. He was being very hospitable, and it wouldn't hurt to sleep just a few more hours.

He yawned again.

"Could I?" he asked.

"Of course you can," John said, walking back into the living room. "Come on."

They walked together back to the room where Sherlock had woken up, and John opened the door. It was then that Sherlock realized that this was probably _John's_ bedroom; and that he had been sleeping in _John's_ bed.

His neck burned pink again.

"Are you going to go to sleep?" Sherlock asked sheepishly.

John shook his head. "No, I have some work to catch up to. Go on, I'll be in the living room if you need something."

He smiled and closed the door, leaving Sherlock alone.

He wanted to snoop a bit before going to sleep, seeing as this would be the only time he could stay in John's room; but he was far too tired for that. He hopped on the bed, and snuggled the blankets around him.

He was really comfortable. The most comfortable he had ever been in a few months.

* * *

Sherlock woke up with a start and frantically grasped at his clothes again. He was confused as to where he was for a second before he remembered he was at John's flat. His breath was shallow and he had cold sweat running down his back.

He looked to the bed side alarm clock at the time read 6:50. He had only been asleep for a few minutes and nightmares had already wormed themselves into his head.

He picked up his blanket and walked out the room, tip-toeing to the living room where John said he would be. There, he found the teacher asleep on the double couch; a gun in hand and a laptop on his stomach.

Sherlock let a smile escape and he walked to where John was sleeping. He put the laptop away on the desk and picked the gun up, laying it on the floor. He settled next to John, wrapping himself in his blanket.

He wasn't really touching John, but he was close enough to feel the army doctor's warmth. Sherlock slowly brought his hand to John's hair and waited to see if he would wake up; he didn't.

He gently ran his hand through the man's hair, taking in new smells he now identified as _John_. John smelled of peppermint and tea and Sherlock began to love that smell.

His hand kept running through the teacher's hair before he reluctantly pulled them away.

"Thank you," he whispered, closing his eyes and dozing off.

On the other side of the couch, John opened one eye and smiled gently.

* * *

**HERE YOU GO HAVE SOME FLUFF TO TAKE AWAY THE PAIN FROM LAST CHAPTER**

**Guess what's coming in the next chapter...John's POV!**


	12. Chapter 12

**July 31st update: I've been re-reading my chapters and I've _just_ noticed I've made an error in John's age. He isn't 27; I've originally intended to make his age around 24-25, so that's where I'll fix it. I must have been daydreaming when I wrote that part! (To be honest, John's POV was quite hard to write so my mind was probably elsewhere during that time.) Forgive me for any confusion this might have caused! I'll be fixing the age errors in the previous chapter/s right now. Thank you :) **

**Here you go; John's POV! I never write my stories in the first person, so you guys will have to make do with this. I'm sorry if it's not what you expected! You'll be able to take a teensy tiny look into the teacher's mind instead of Sherlock's, this time. Thanks and please leave some reviews!  
**

* * *

John woke up a few hours later feeling quite warm.

Something next to him was very hot..almost burning to the touch. It seemed to radiate heat towards him, and he was starting to sweat.

He turned around and came face to face with Sherlock.

Normally he would scream if he had someone this close to him; but he remembered that the detective came to sleep beside him a while ago.

He could gaze at his face all day...as embarrassing as it sounds. Sherlock _was_ beautiful. His white creamy face was perfectly sculpted by his hair, and **oh** , those cheekbones. John would give anything just to run his finger down those perfect cheekbones.

He might as well...

John reached his hand out and touched Sherlock's face, immediately retreating it as soon as it touched the warm surface.

Sherlock was _burning_.

"Sherlock," John whispered, wiping the teen's sweaty forehead. "You're burning up."

The detective opened one eye and yawned. "It's hot in here."

"Of course it is, you're running a fever." John said, concerned. He stood up and brushed the fleece blanket off his body. "Come on."

Sherlock stood up, swaying a bit. He brought a hand to his forehead and winced. "Bloody hell, I feel terrible."

"You're going to be sick...it's probably the side effects of the drug he must have injected you with. Have you eaten anything while you were at the party?"

The young man swayed again and giggled. "Nope."

"Here we go," John took his hand and led him to the bathroom. "The fever's gone to your head. You have to remember, Sherlock. I can't give you any medicine since I don't know what he injected you with, so I need you to remember. Was the cover of the syringe green, red or orange?"

Sherlock giggled again and laced his hands over John's neck, almost making the two men tumble to the floor. "Nooooppppeee."

John easily picked up Sherlock and carried him to the bathroom.

"Where 'ya bringing me?"

"I need to bring your fever down. You're going to be sick."

"Isn't that right, Jaaawn? Good deduction."

John scoffed. "Sherlock, you might want to shut up unless you want to say something really stupid that you'll regret later on."

The teenager frowned and kept laughing. "I feel dizzy."

The teacher tsked and Sherlock down on the floor.

He looked at the disheveled, pink and clearly delusional man and he wanted to laugh. He would've; if the situation wasn't so alarming.

Sherlock, who was always so stoic and proper, was now reduced to a giggling and squirming mess.

John ran a cloth under cold water and brought it to Sherlock's red face.

"No," Sherlock protested, turning his face away.

"Come on. It's just a cold cloth. It's this, or a bath."

Sherlock's eyes darkened and he smirked. He brought his hands to his shirt and began to unbutton it. "I'll take a bath, thank you."

John turned red and he swatted Sherlock's hands away. Good Lord, was he serious about that?

"I was just kidding, Sherlock."

He managed to wipe his sweaty forehead without any trouble, and when John was finished he stood up and patted Sherlock's head.

"I'll bring you an aspirin. Be right back."

He walked quickly to the kitchen and filled a cup with water, grabbing the bottle of aspirin nearby as well. It took just a minute, and during that time the flat became very quiet.

"Sherlock?" he called out, bringing the supplies to the bathroom.

He knocked on the door and after hearing no response, opened the door. Sherlock wasn't in there.

"Shit."

John ran to look frantically in every room for the missing detective, finding no trace of him.

Finally, after searching in his own bedroom, he found him curled up in a ball under the covers.

"Sherlock," he whispered, putting the cup of water on the bedside table. "I was worried...were you here all along?"

"Hmm...John?"

"Yes, it's me. Come on, drink this." he handed the aspirin to Sherlock.

When he was done, Sherlock flopped back down on the bed. "My body huuuurrts, John."

"I know, I know," he hushed him. "You're having a bad reaction to whatever was in that syringe."

Sherlock giggled and stood up. "Wooaaaah, the room's spinning. This is fun!"

"No, sit back down," John caught Sherlock by the shirt and tried to bring him back to the bed, but the younger man was stronger than he looked. He pulled and made himself _and_ John tumble to the floor.

"So nice of you to join me, John."

"Let go, Sherlock," John sighed, trying to pull himself back up.

"No! Stay here with me."

John sighed once more and settled back down. Both of them were laying on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. John's face was all scrunched up with worry, but Sherlock was smiling.

The teacher was indeed very worried. Sherlock was a minor...which meant that _he_ was in charge of him. He hadn't contacted Sherlock's family and no one knew he was staying with him.

Even though John did enjoy his company.

He turned to face the detective...even in his worst day, Sherlock was beautiful.

That's all John could think about when he was around the boy. Stunning. He was amazing, perfect. Did John have a little man-crush on him?

No. Impossible. He was just 17 for God's sake! John was about 8 years older than him!

And Sherlock, well, he probably had tons of young girls running after him everyday. John was nothing compared to them, he was sure. Sherlock could have anyone he wanted; hell, he probably has dozens of girls (probably guys as well) ready to drop to their knees if he gave them consent.

John mentally scoffed. Dozens of girls and guys, including _him_.

His face burned and he turned himself away from Sherlock. He's got to stop thinking about him like this. His **student** , for goodness' sake! He didn't even know if Sherlock was attracted to men! He could be straight for all he knows. He's told Sherlock a while ago that he was bisexual, and he was meaning to ask him what his orientation was, but he forgot.

He would give anything to just know what was going on in that smart brain of his...anything.

"Stop thinking, John."

"What?"

"You're thinking. Stop thinking."

"Well, **_excuse_ ** me-"

"Shut up."

John's mouth stood agape and he sat up to look at Sherlock. Sherlock, on the other hand sat back with a big smirk on his face.

"I'm going to tell myself that was the fever talking." John crossed his arms.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a second before opening them again. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he rolled over and settled himself on John's lap.

"Bloody hell-" John barely had the time to protest before Sherlock brought his face close to his own. His breath was warm, and he brought his lips to John's ear.

"Kiss me, John."

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

John stuttered. "What?"

Sherlock, who was still firmly settled on John's lap, resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his teacher's response. John could have said 'no' or he could have answered with 'yes', but he went with 'what?'. Which meant that he had to repeat himself...and he doesn't think he could do it. He barely got that first sentence out.

Should he go ahead and ask John to kiss him again? Or should he just shrug it off and blame on on the fever? He was feeling pretty warm...and quite dizzy as well. He could forget about everything and pull it off as a joke.

But he didn't want to.

Sherlock wanted to kiss John.

He wanted _John_ to kiss _him_. And he doesn't want this to be one-sided, he wants John to like it as well. As he was looking down at his teacher, mesmerized by those heavenly eyes, he wanted nothing more than to just bend down and kiss those lips...but he couldn't.

"I said, kiss me."

John scoffed and gently pushed Sherlock off of him. He stood up and shook his head. "I can't kiss you, Sherlock."

"Why not?"

"Because...because it wouldn't be right," he said, sounding unconvinced with his answer.

"Oh?"

"Yes, _'oh'_. Come on Sherlock, think about it. It'll be wrong."

Sherlock hugged his knees. "Tell me some reasons why it would be wrong."

"Um," John started. "Number one, I'm your teacher. Number two, you're my student. You're a minor, I'm _way_ older than you, you're sick, you're probably recovering from shock and _I don't want to take advantage of you._ "

"Hmph." Sherlock sat back on the floor. "Those don't sound very convincing to me."

"Well they are."

Sherlock sighed.

"Would you like me to come out and say it straight to your face, John Watson? Hmm? Do you?"

"I don't know what you're talking ab-"

Sherlock suddenly stood up and moved to stand in front of John.

He towered just a few inches above John and his warm breath was hitting the teacher on his face.

He just stood there; unbearably close, not saying anything, just breathing.

John didn't say anything either. He didn't back away this time, he just stood and didn't move. He knew how wrong this was, he really knew it, and yet he didn't say anything at all.

"Sherlock?"

The detective arched an eyebrow and kept his eyes on him.

John felt his throat become dry and his tongue dashed out and flicked against his bottom lip.

"I like you, John Watson."

John cringed. He almost started laughing but contained his laughter, and he felt his nervousness slip away.

"That sounded weird, didn't it?" Sherlock asked, smiling.

"Well when you said it, yes it did."

"It was hard for me to say it too, so be proud of yourself; you actually made Sherlock Holmes admit that he liked someone."

"So you do?"

Sherlock frowned. "Do what?"

"Like me, I mean. Do you?"

"Well of course, otherwise I wouldn't have said it."

"...why?" John twiddled his thumbs and looked away.

The detective groaned. "You're really going to make me list reasons why I like you?"

"Well, yes."

"Fine." Sherlock sighed. "You're smart, you're funny, you're really handsome. I just...like you. I don't know why, there isn't a particular reason why I do, but I just seem to. Unless you don't reciprocate my feelings?"

John bit his nails.

"Hmm? Do you, John?"

"...Yes."

John flushed and looked away, avoiding Sherlock's eyes. But Sherlock on the other hand, was ecstatic.

_Someone actually likes him back._

He wanted to scream. He wanted to climb the nearest building and shout ' **YES!** ' into the open air. He wanted to show the world that _he likes someone_ and this person _likes him back_.

Sherlock smiled. "I am going to kiss you now, John Watson."

Before John even had the time to say anything, Sherlock leaned forward and captured John's lips with his own.

And he kissed him.

He didn't have a lot of practice with kissing; the last time he's ever kissed someone was with James back in high school. But he did enough research to figure out how to do it properly, and he was pretty sure whatever he was doing; John liked it.

And John kissed back. At first he was hesitant and seemed to freeze, but after Sherlock initiated a deeper kiss, he kissed back.

Softly...as if he was scared of hurting the detective. He tasted just like he smelled; of peppermint tea and cinnamon and _John_. And the man had a habit of pulling on Sherlock's lower lip every so often.

It was driving Sherlock mad.

The kiss was so soft and gentle...Sherlock could stay like this forever. But he needed to breathe, and he was pretty sure John needed to breathe as well.

He reluctantly pulled away, leaning his forehead against John's.

The two of them breathed heavily and both of their faces were red.

A minute or two passed.

"I'm going to make myself a cup of tea." John said, his voice sounding shaky.

Sherlock nodded a bit too quickly and pulled away, sitting down on the couch. He couldn't think straight after what happened; his breath was still heavy and his mind was foggy due to the lack of oxygen.

John came back a minute later with a cup of tea and sat down across Sherlock. He mentioned to the cup and raised his eyebrows at the detective, as if asking Sherlock if he wanted some tea as well.

Sherlock shook his head and sat back on the couch.

"So." John started.

"So?"

"We need to talk about this, Sherlock."

"Do we?"

"Yes."

"Hmm," Sherlock cocked his head. "Not necessarily. Why should we?"

John seemed to count to ten in his head before bellowing. "You _kissed_ me!"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did."

John almost threw his tea to the ground. " ** _Why_**?"

"Didn't you say you have feelings for me, John?"

"I did, bu-"

Sherlock smirked. "You liked it, though."

John looked away. "N-no I didn't."

Sherlock cocked his head again and studied John's body language. Flushed cheeks and neck, dilated pupils, uneven breathing...

"Yes, you did."

John pinched the bridge on his nose. "You're arguing like a child, Sherlock."

"You really want to talk about this?" Sherlock asked. "Okay, we could set a date and talk about it."

"Why not now?"

"Because I have to go home now."

The teacher looked up. "Yeah?"

The detective nodded. "Yes. I need to go home, sort out my things...get back on my daily schedule and all."

John seemed to forget about the heated conversation they had moments ago, and stood up. He had that worried look back on his face. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I think so."

John's eyes scanned Sherlock's face worriedly. "...Okay. You have my number, right? Call me if there's anything you need."

"Sure."

"I know you don't want me to tell the police yet; and I won't, because I respect your wishes. But he's still out there. You could try with a restraining order for now, if you wish."

"Thanks, John."

John smiled warmly up at the young man. "Of course, Sherlock."

"Really...thank you. For everything."

"There's nothing to thank me for, trust me. How are you going to go home? Shall I hail a cab or would you like me to drop you off? Because I could do that, if you want."

"No, don't worry about it. Just hail a cab and I'll be fine." Sherlock looked down at the shirt he was wearing, which obviously belonged to John. "Oh, and I'll wash this and bring it back to you."

"Keep it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really, Sherlock. Keep it." John smiled again. "I'll call the cab."

A few minutes later, a cab pulled up to the apartment. The teacher looked nervously outside and then back at Sherlock.

"Promise me you'll be safe?"

"I promise."

"I'll call you later on to see if you're doing fine...okay? And lock your doors."

Sherlock playfully rolled his eyes. "Yes, mother."

The teacher chuckled and waved. "Okay, okay. Bye, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded and walked outside, closing the door behind him. John heard the cab driving off and he looked around the suddenly empty flat.

It was very quiet.

* * *

Sherlock closed his dorm room behind him and locked it.

His dorm was just the way he had left it; nothing had moved or taken away. Christopher's bed lay unmade (like always), but there was a small note near the pillowcase.

**Not going to be here for a few days, off to find Jeremy.**

Jeremy went missing?

 _Good for you, you bloody bastard_ , Sherlock thought, throwing the note in the paper-bin. He looked around the dorm a bit again, and also checked the fridge (which was empty). He'd have to go grocery shopping later on, then.

That sudden thought made him feel strange...why was he going on like this? Why was his life returning to normal so suddenly? Something horrible had happened to him a few days ago and yet he was acting so normally!

Was it how he was supposed to be?

Maybe it was the fact that John had helped him out...and that he had _let_ John help him out.

Really, Sherlock was so arrogant he would have probably refused John's help and gone home by himself.

He sighed and moved towards his bed, where he flopped down and grabbed his cell phone. John was right, he should really call Mycroft.

He quickly dialed his brother's number and it barely rang twice before Mycroft answered.

"Sherlock, what a lovely surprise."

"Mycroft." the detective said in a monotonous tone. "We need to talk."

He could hear Mycroft's concern over the phone. "I'll be over in 10 minutes."


	14. Chapter 14

The elder Holmes brother sat across from the detective, his umbrella tucked away by his feet. He looked tired; like he hadn't slept in days, and his usual formal attire was replaced with something much more comfortable. If you looked past his tired face..Mycroft looked somewhat happy. He had a tint of pink in his cheeks that were never here before, and he seemed to act a little less rigid.

He also looked a lot skinner; which was something new.

But Mycroft was never fat...in fact, he wasn't even that big. He _had_ let himself go a few years after he joined college and gained a few pounds, however it looked like he lost quite a bit of weight.

Sherlock smiled. "You've lost weight."

"It appears that I have."

"Finally stopped eating mum's chocolate cupcakes, have you?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Quit being so rude, Sherlock. And besides, my recent weight loss has nothing to do with the reason you called me."

The detective fidgeted and avoided Mycroft's eyes. He didn't want to tell his big brother, but he had to. He couldn't keep what happened to himself.

"Something happened a few days ago, Mycroft."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows as if urging Sherlock to continue.

"I- I went to this party and-"

"A _party_?"

"I know, but this guy persuaded me to come and-"

"So you let yourself be persuaded by this... _pedestrian_ to go to some party?!"

Sherlock felt the tears in the back of his eyelids. He blinked quickly and tried to hide an oncoming sniffle. "Mycroft, something happened."

The elder Holmes stopped talking and looked at his little brother carefully. He studied how Sherlock sat; his legs tucked in, his arms tightly hugging his body, his eyes blinking back tears...this wasn't good.

His voice softened. "Sherlock, what happened? You can tell me."

Sherlock explained. He explained everything, he told his brother what had happened from the beginning to the end. He told him that he went to stay at John's flat for a while, he told Mycroft how well John had treated him...he told him everything.

Everything except the kiss he shared with John.

When he was done, he looked up to see Mycroft's face staring blankly back at him; all the color had drained from his face.

"Well. This has to be taken care of."

"Don't do anything extreme, Mycroft-"

"If you'll excuse me Sherlock, I have to call my snipers."

"No! Please don't do anything like that, please. We can go tell the police...not now, but later. But don't call your snipers."

Mycroft thought it over. "You're right. Snipers are too messy, aren't they? I should ring one of my hit-men."

" **No!** "

He sighed. "Sherlock, I have to do something about it. I can't leave him free to do as he pleases, the damn bastard! He touched you!"

The detective almost gasped to hear those vulgar words come out of such a pristine and cultured man like his brother. He collected himself and stood up.

"Please Mycroft, you can't do that...we'll sort it out, I promise. Just not now. He isn't here, anyway. He's been missing."

"And I hope he stays missing." Mycroft huffed and sat back down. "I need something to drink."

"Cup of tea?" Sherlock suggested, standing up.

"Yes, that will do. And do you have a bottle of scotch?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Scotch?"

"Yes, or do you have anything stronger? Not that I expect you to, but I need to calm my nerves."

"I have wine, if that's alright."

Mycroft closed his eyes. "That's alright. Thank you."

Sherlock came back a minute later with a glass of white wine for his brother and a cup of tea for himself. They sat together in silence; Sherlock thinking about what he had just old his brother, and Mycroft thinking of ways to exterminate the little pest that dared touch his younger sibling.

"You look different, Mycroft." Sherlock broke the ice.

"You look different yourself, little brother."

"Do I?"

Mycroft cocked his head and studied Sherlock.

Sherlock wallowed under his stare. If Mycroft wanted to, he could deduce whatever was going on in Sherlock's head in a heartbeat. He was as smart and intelligent as the detective, and a lot subtle about it too.

"Are you seeing someone?" he asked.

The younger Holmes gulped and looked away. "No."

"Your lips tell a different story." Mycroft smirked and formed a steeple with his hands. He put his wine glass down. "They look quite a bit swollen today, don't they?"

Sherlock looked at Mycroft's actions and resisted the urge to look away again. When his older brother did that, it was a way of assigning his higher authority over things. It was a way of showing Sherlock that _he_ was smarter, _he_ was a lot more powerful and _he_ could make Sherlock admit anything in the blink of an eye.

"I don't know what you're talking about, My."

" _Oh~ho_ , now you're playing the sweet little childish nicknames with me? You've stopped calling me 'My' since you were 10 years old." Mycroft uncrossed his legs and sighed. "Tell me who you've been kissing, Sherlock."

"Kissing? I haven't been kissing anyone,"

"I guess you want to do this the hard way, little brother. You _have_ been kissing someone, you can't lie to me. I know this person's not a woman; so that rules out a lot of people."

Sherlock flushed.

"He's a few inches shorter than you, isn't he? Never knew you had a thing for people shorter than you, Sherlock."

" _He's_ not short," the detective rolled his eyes. " _I'm_ just tall."

Mycroft's eyes twinkled. "Ah. So you are seeing someone. And here I thought I was just leading myself on."

 _Shit,_ Sherlock thought as pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What is that on your shirt?" Mycroft squinted his eyes. "Is that blond hair?"

"N-"

"Ah, so blond hair, short-ish, male...haven't I seen someone like that before?"

Sherlock didn't even bother with answering. He knew Mycroft had it.

" ** _Oh!_ ** Why, I _have_ seen someone who matches those description...he brought your laptop back a few days after new year's, the same day you came back from home." He feigned surprise. "And who was that, Sherlock?"

"...John."

"Last name, little brother, last name."

"Watson."

Mycroft closed his eyes. "Watson...I've heard that name before. Watson, John. Of course, he was on one of your teacher's list." Mycroft sighed. " **Teacher's** list, Sherlock. Isn't that interesting?"

"Well- "

"The key word here is **TEACHER** , Sherlock. **TEACHER**."

"I know, My-"

"Do you know what kind of scandal this would create if word got out that you're _seeing_ a _teacher_? For goodness' sake, Sherlock! What were you thinking?!" Mycroft's voice boomed and he stood up, pacing back and forth.

"He's not a bad person, My-"

"I know that. I ran a background check on all your teachers but Sherlock, he's a teacher. He's 25...he's just...a commoner."

"He isn't, and you know that," Sherlock retorted with a voice equally loud as his brother.

"I'm not going to forbid you from seeing him," Mycroft calmed down. "I can't; because you'll just go behind my back. But be careful, please. You already had that...disgusting little vermin after you, I don't want anything else to happen to you."

Sherlock nodded.

"I know about him," the elder Holmes started. "I know quite a bit, actually. He has a very... _interesting_ background. Why you would choose him out of all people is beyond me. But he looks trustworthy. Even if he's your teacher."

"So...it doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it does, but what can I say?"

The detective calmed down and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sherlock, use proper protection."

Sherlock blushed and everything became awkward again. "We're not doing anything yet, My."

"Yet?"

"Look, I'll use protection okay? You don't need to remind me."

Mycroft shrugged. "And if I don't, who will?"

"I'm not daft, I'll be sure to use it. Besides, what do _you_ know?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "What do _I_ know? Plenty, thank you."

The young detective's eyes bulged. "Wait. **What**?"

"I've had my fair share of experiences, Sherlock." he smirked to himself and seemed distant for a while.

"Oh my God, that's _disgusting_. You? Mycroft Holmes, tumbling in bed...with a **man**?!"

"You don't have to make everything sound so obscene."

"And with who?" Sherlock laughed. "Oh, probably that D.I! What was his name? Lestrade?"

It was his big brother's turn to flush pink. "Stop talking before you say something you'll regret."

"Oh so it _was_ Lestrade. Never knew you had it in you, older brother."

"Shut up, Sherlock."

Sherlock on the other hand couldn't stop laughing. The thought of his brother getting it on with another man had him laughing hysterically. "Were you dominant?" he finally asked, giggles still slipping through his lips.

Mycroft frowned, his face still a nice pink color. "That is _none_ of your business!"

"You probably weren't. Lestrade looks a lot more stronger and dominant than you, brother."

The elder Holmes flushed again and held his head in his hands. "We're not having this conversation."

"Oh, but we are. Did it hurt? Was it nice? Did you like it, Mycroft?"

"It was a **one** time thing, alright?"

"So? I bet you still remember. Tell me more."

Mycroft sighed and stood up to make himself a cup of tea, leaving Sherlock laughing in the living room.

Things were going to be okay now that Mycroft was here.

* * *

**Well, tomorrow's my birthday. Here's a gift from me to you :)  
**


	15. Chapter 15

Mycroft finished his cup of tea and sighed. He set it down on the table and stood up, glancing at Sherlock worriedly.

"You should come home, Sherlock," he said, picking up his umbrella. "Even if it's just for a week or two."

Sherlock sighed and shook his head. "No. I have to get back to my classes and regular daily schedule. I'll be fine, Mycroft."

"What about your birthday? It's next week, you know." Mycroft looked distant. "You'll be 18."

Sherlock almost forgot about his birthday...

"Either way. I'm staying here. I'll be fine, I promise."

Mycroft didn't look convinced. "I don't feel comfortable leaving you here."

"Am I dreaming or is Mycroft Holmes showing human affection towards his brother?" Sherlock joked.

"I'm only concerned about your well-being. I'm always worried about you."

"Don't be," the detective said again. "I'll be fine."

"I'm not saying you won't." Mycroft started walking towards the door. "You know to call me if you need anything."

"I know, I know."

"I'm going to talk to the office about changing your dorm and having you move into another one. Preferably one where you could live by yourself."

"You don't have to do that My-"

"And I'll see about reinforcing your door, once you move," Mycroft interrupted. "And you really need to be careful out there, okay?"

Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Mycroft wasn't usually this caring, and he didn't show any kind of affection towards people. But when he did, he was a bit overprotective.

"Okay, okay."

Mycroft nodded solemnly and walked out. Sherlock heard the car driving off and soon, once again, he was left alone.

He would be fine by himself...right? Nothing could happen to him if he locked the doors properly and didn't let anyone in. He could call Mycroft or John if he needed something, and anyways he felt a lot better. His fever was gone and he had started eating again.

While Sherlock was figuring out what to eat for dinner, he heard his phone beep from the bedroom. He smiled and ran towards the room, hoping the message was from John.

**Where the bloody hell is my gun? -JW**

Sherlock smirked and threw his hand under his mattress. He felt around for a while before his fingers touched the cool metal of a gun. Still grinning, he typed back an answer.

**Nice and safe under my mattress. -SH**

**What is it doing there? Why do you need it? -JW**

**Because I needed to protect myself. And I'm not good with knives, so I thought why not? Plus, you have 2 other ones in your flat. -SH**

**You're not going to stab anybody, are you? -JW**

Sherlock thought about it for a while, before shrugging.

**Unless it's necessary, no I won't. -SH**

**Be careful with it, Sherlock. Keep the safety on, I don't want you to hurt yourself. -JW**

**You're so thoughtful. -SH**

**I can hear the sarcasm in your text. -JW**

_Huh,_ Sherlock thought. He smiled and thought of what to say next.

**I'm coming to class tomorrow. -SH**

**Are you sure? You don't want to rest for a bit longer? -JW**

**No, I'm sure. I have to get back to class. Jeremy isn't here, anyway. Neither is Christopher. -SH**

**Good riddance. -JW**

**And I hope you'll be fine on your own, Sherlock. Don't hesitate to call me if you need something. -JW**

**Yes, of course. I have you first class tomorrow, anyway. Everything will be fine, I promise. -SH**

**You're the one reassuring me, when I'm pretty sure it should be the other way around. And yes, I almost forgot about classes. Have you done the experiment homework? -JW**

**Yes, sir. -SH**

**Was the 'sir' part really necessary? -JW**

**You liked it though. -SH**

**How could you possible figure that out through text messages? -JW**

**It took you approximately 2 minutes and 3 seconds to answer me. So you were probably thinking about it. Which meant you liked it. -SH**

**...Either way. We're still going to have to talk about all this, Sherlock. -JW  
**

**Talk about what? -SH**

**Don't play dumb, I know pretty well you aren't. About...our relationship. -JW**

The detective sat back on his bed and thought. Of course he had to talk with John about the whole 'relationship' thing. He didn't like to talk to people; much less talk about really personal things such as relationships, but with John, he'll do it.

**I don't have afternoon classes on Tuesday. If you're free, maybe we could go to a cafe and talk? -SH**

**Yes, that'll be good. I know a nice place not too far from here. I'll pick you up around 4, is that okay? -JW**

**Of course that's okay. -SH**

**Alright. Well, I have papers to grade. I'll see you tomorrow, Sherlock. -JW**

**Goodnight, John. Sleep tight. -SH**

**Don't let the bedbugs bite. -JW**

**What? -SH**

**Oh, come on. You're telling me you've never heard of that before? -JW**

**No. And I assure you John, I don't have bedbugs in my bed. -SH**

**It's a saying. My mum used to tell me that every time she wished me goodnight. It's always made me feel better. And you need to feel better, so... -JW**

Sherlock smiled. That sounded oddly...adorable.

He wished his parents had done that. Instead, back at home (when he was younger), his father bid him goodnight formally with a handshake. He got a quick peck on the cheek from his mummy once in a while, if he was lucky.

John sharing something from his childhood, as simple as it sounded, made Sherlock feel trusted. It seemed like the strong ex army doctor had some softness still in him.

**Thank you. That was sweet. -SH**

**Shall we start again? So you get the hang of it. -JW**

**Sure. -SH**

**Goodnight Sherlock. -JW**

**Sleep tight. -SH**

**Don't let the bedbugs bite. -JW**

* * *

The next morning came pretty quick. Sherlock ate, managed to take a quick shower, and dress himself.

He took a step out into the cold Monday morning. He slowly closed the door behind him, and started walking towards campus; slowly, each step small and tentative.

His walk was skittish, and he looked frantically around every time he heard a small sound. He crossed many people on the way to the building, but none seemed to take a great interest in him.

 _It's okay Sherlock,_ he coaxed himself. _Just make it into the building and find John. You'll be fine._

After a minute or two of walking, he felt his nervousness slip away. What was there to be afraid of? Jeremy was missing, and Christopher was gone. Not that he was wary of Christopher; but he could never be too comfortable him either.

The Science Building came into view and Sherlock quickened his pace. He was going to make it, even if it took—

"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock could recall that voice from anywhere. He slowly turned around, and came face to face with Irene.

"Good morning, Irene," he said through clenched teeth.

"Same to you, Sherlock," she responded, smiling up at the detective. She mentioned to a bench on their left. "Mind if we sit down and talk?"

"Oh I'd love to, but I have class in 15 minutes—"

"Sit down and let's talk, Sherlock," she said, her tone becoming a bit harsher. When he reluctantly sat down and she settled herself next to him, her previous harsh tone and dominant demeanor vanished.

They sat in silence for a while.

"I haven't seen you around for a while you know," she started, the soft and woman-like voice of hers making Sherlock's face turn pale.

"I was out."

She raised her eyebrows, and Sherlock felt like the answer was pulled from his mouth. "For personal reasons."

Irene seemed unsatisfied with his answer. Instead of pulling more answers from the young detective, she shrugged and changed topics.

"Have you thought about my little offer?" she asked.

Sherlock thought for a second. The 'offer' she was talking about didn't occur to him until now.

"Actually, I have."

She smiled. "Liar. But I'd love to hear your answer."

"I'm afraid I'm going to pass on the offer," Sherlock said, standing up. "You see, I'm a minor, and well, there are laws about things like that."

"It's your birthday next week," she said matter-of-factly. "You'll be a legal adult."

Sherlock stilled. "I'm not going to ask you how you knew that."

"Very well, Sherlock. I gave you time to think about it. And either way, I'm not going to force myself on you."

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief.

"I think I'm going to go after that delicious brother of yours—Mycroft, is it?" Irene winked.

The detective almost gagged. "Have fun with that."

"Oh, I will." She got up, kissed Sherlock softly under his ear, and left.

* * *

**Thank you all for the lovely birthday wishes. You've made me so happy! And yes, I've got to admit; last chapter was my favorite. I only spent around 2 hours on it, but it turned out so good. So I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please let me hear your lovely reviews. ｡◕‿◕｡**

**I'm going to try to update at least twice a week from now; until school starts again. Because when school starts, I'll be updating once in a while (don't fret, I'll never go 10 days without updating). Thank you for sticking with me and my boring and slow updates ^_^  
**


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock hurried faster towards the Science Building, taking a few shortcuts to get there faster. When he arrived at the classroom, he suddenly realized how nervous he was.

He didn't know what to do when he saw John. Sherlock didn't know how to deal with relationships and things of the sort. He didn't know how they worked and he had no one to take an example from; plus, using his parents' relationship as an example was out of the question.

His parents weren't the sort of people you would classify as romantic. Sherlock had never really seen them kiss, or even hug when he was younger. He thought that that was the way parents were supposed to act, until he saw how cozy his classmate's parents were at parent-teacher conferences. Compared to _his_ parents, they were extremely touchy-feely and romantic.

He had to admit he was a bit scared of relationships at times, but he had his entire trust in John. He knew he wouldn't do anything to him that he was unprepared for or uncomfortable with.

So that does it. If no one was around, he'll kiss John. Not full on making out (he had no idea how to), just a quick peck on the lips. Just like he had seen his mummy kiss his father, on the rare occasions when he came back from trips. Seems simple enough.

Sherlock opened the classroom door, closing it swiftly behind him. No one was here yet; but he had seen a few students waiting outside in the campus grounds. There was still 5 minutes until the lessons started, so people should be heading to their classes right now.

He took a breath and called out, "John?"

There was a rustling of boxes and papers, and soon enough John's familiar face popped out the chemical cabinet. He smiled and set whatever he was carrying on the ground and walked towards Sherlock.

"Good morning, Sherlock. How are you?"

Sherlock couldn't help but grin and head towards John. "Good," he said, fiddling with his coat. "How are _you_?"

"A bit tired, but other than that I'm fine." John said.

There was silence as Sherlock mustered the courage to ask a question. "Can I kiss you?"

The teacher did a double take. "What?"

"You have a knack for always making me repeat my embarrassing questions," Sherlock mumbled, his neck already a nice pink color. "Are you playing around or did you really not hear what I asked you?"

"No no, I heard you. That was just my automatic answer."

Sherlock scoffed. "All of this discussion for just a kiss." He bent down, cradled John's face in between his hands and captured the man's lips with his own. It lasted a second or two, and Sherlock pulled away.

" _Sherlock_!" John hissed, looking behind him. "What if people saw?!"

The young detective laughed and shook his head. "They didn't. Give me your hand."

"What?"

With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock reached for John's hand and held his wrists between his fingers for a bit. "You've got quite an elevated pulse, Dr. Watson," he said with a smirk.

"Th—that's because I was worried someone would catch us."

"Hmm-hm." Sherlock grinned and headed towards his seat. He sat down at his usual table, crossed his hands, and looked towards the teacher. "I'm ready for class, sir."

John clenched and unclenched his hands, before he went back to his desk.

"Well, people should be coming in about now."

"I don't know how you do it. I can't stand a minute with them. These people are idiots."

"Sherlock!" John scolded.

"Well they are," he said with a pout. "I could bloody well teach the class and these imbeciles won't understand a thing."

"Give them time. They're not as brilliant as you," John answered sighing.

"Why thank you sir," Sherlock said with a smile. "That's about the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Don't lie. I've said nice things to you before,"

"Yeah, like how you drooled over me on the first day of classes," Sherlock laughed. "Your jaw almost hit the floor."

"I did _**not!**_ "

"Yes, you did. This was you the entire time: ~ _Ohhhh_ , _Shheeerrrlock_ , what lovely cheekbones you have!" Sherlock said with a feminine voice. " _Ooooh_ _Sherrrrrlock_ , would you mind helping me carry these boxes to the lab?"

John stifled his laughter and turned towards the wall. "Did not."

"Did too,"

John didn't even bother arguing further, knowing that Sherlock was right (and that you couldn't argue with Sherlock and expect to win). "You better not play any games today, Sherlock."

"Games?" he asked with an innocent look. "I don't play any games."

" _Oh-ho_ , those innocent puppy eyes you always do won't work on me this time," John said as he gathered up a few papers. "Don't try to disturb me during class."

"Disturb you sir? Why, I would do no such thing."

"Yes you would, with those…cheekbones and tousled hair. You're even wearing that purple shirt of yours—are you doing this on purpose?"

The teacher looked flustered as he took in Sherlock's look _. Of course I'm doing this on purpose_ , Sherlock thought as he looked at John. But what came out of his mouth was a sly smirk and a soft "No,"

John didn't look convinced.

"Are you saying I'm attractive, doctor?"

"I—you know what, we'll talk about this tomorrow."

As soon as the teacher said those words, students began filing into the classrooms. There was a clutter of noise as chairs scraped on the floor and books hit the desks. Students started talking loudly and there was a jumble of loud conversations and shouting across the classroom.

Sherlock wished for the nice quietness he had with John moments earlier.

O.o.O.o

After a while, Sherlock became bored. The lesson itself was very interesting, but it annoyed him how every five minutes some idiot would ask a question that John had already answered multiple times.

He decided it was time to have some fun.

He had forced himself to watch some telly last night, and he had come across a late-night soap opera. Of course, Sherlock had deduced the entire plot in under 5 minutes, but he watched more of it to see how the couples interacted.

Sherlock had seen how the ladies would make lovey-dovey eyes at their boyfriends during the show. He studied the way they fluttered their eyelashes and fluffed their hair; and he came to one conclusion.

He had to do that too.

Well, everything but the eyelash fluttering and fluffing of the hair. He had mastered the 'bedroom eyes' very well; in fact, he had video-called Mycroft around 2 A.M on to make sure it was perfected. He recalled the conversation and smiled smugly.

_"Mycroft? I have a question."_

_Even on camera, his brother looked worn out and fatigued. He heard his brother sigh. "What do you want?"_

_"Tell me how this looks," and he did it. His eyes glazed over a bit and he had a tiny smirk playing on the corner of his lips._

_"It looks like you want to pounce on someone," Mycroft sighed, rubbing his temples. "Are you ill?"_

_"But does it look good?"_

_Mycroft rolled his eyes and held his head in his hands. "Yes, fine."_

_"Good." And with that, Sherlock ended the call._

He feels now that he should try his little experiment on John. He fixated his eyes on the teacher and smirked slowly, his eyes doing that 'thing'. He kept that look until John turned around to look at the class and almost had a heart attack.

"The—the endoplasmic reticulum is located in the, ah—,"

Sherlock intensified the look and shifted in his seat.

Maybe if he unbuttoned a few of his shirt buttons?

He did just so and laughed maniacally inwardly at John's reaction. Although the teacher was flustered and stuttering every time he tried to say a sentence, no one noticed.

Oh, if he could keep this up and play this game every day, classes were going to be a lot more fun.

O.o.O.o

**You did that on purpose,** John texted him that afternoon. **You did it on purpose and you almost made me forget about my lecture. –JW**

**Of course I did that on purpose. By the way, the endoplasmic reticulum is usually located where the process of protein synthesis occurs; in hepatocytes. –SH**

**I know that. –JW**

**Really? You seemed to have spaced out a bit this morning. –SH**

**Hm. Are all of your shirts like that? –JW**

**Like what? –SH**

**You know. Close-fitting and taut. Your shirt buttons looked like they were about to pop at any time. –JW**

Sherlock smiled and looked down at his shirt. It was true that he liked his shirts to be body-hugging and taut. He always did.

**Are you complaining? –SH**

**…No. –JW**

**See, now there's no reason for me not to wear my shirts like that. Unless you disagree with it, of course. Speaking of, are we still up for coffee tomorrow? –SH**

While he waited for John to answer him, he set his phone down and walked to the kitchen for a drink of water. Not less than a minute later, his phone buzzed with a new message. Excited to find out what John's answer was, he hurried back to his room and read the message hungrily.

**Dinner?**

_That's strange,_ Sherlock thought. That's the only thing the message said.

He typed back his response quickly and frowned. That didn't sound like John. John always put his initials at the end of a text message, and he didn't usually answer with one word.

**John, are you okay? –SH**

**Dinner with me, Mr. Holmes. It is of the utmost matter.**

This wasn't John.

The way this person called him Mr. Holmes made him shiver. Only one person ever calls him like that, and that person was Irene Adler.

**How did you get my number, Irene? –SH**

**Bravo, Mr. Holmes. And it only took you two minutes to figure that out. I presume 6 P.M is a good time for you?**

**Who said I was going to dinner with you? –SH**

**I'm afraid you cannot refuse.**

**Of course I can. Watch me. –SH**

**It is something that surely concerns you. And that foolish boy running after you as well.**

Sherlock gulped and re-read the message over and over again. How much did Irene know about what had happened with Jeremy?

**Is he with you? –SH**

**Of course not, I wouldn't let him near me in a million years. But I know where he is, and I have other information you'll be glad to hear. Well, not _really_ glad, but…**

**6 P.M is fine. –SH**

And that is how Sherlock finally agreed to arrange a dinner with Miss Irene Adler.

* * *

**Oh dear. That spells trouble, doesn't it? But I'm sure Miss Adler has lots of information that Sherlock could put to use. Once again, thank you all so much for the lovely reviews and the favorites/follows!**

**Let me hear what you think of this chapter! (◡‿◡✿) Thank you!  
**


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock stood in front of the café near the campus, waiting for the car that was supposed to come get him. Irene had said that she would send someone to get him around 6 P.M, and surely enough, a car pulled up to the curb a few minutes past 6.

He didn't even hesitate before opening the door.

He didn't really know Irene that well; she _could_ have sent someone to kidnap him, but he didn't really care. He had been kidnapped three times before (while pursuing one of England's most wanted criminal) when he was 14. Eventually he got away (with Mycroft's unwanted help), so if she decided to kidnap him, he would find a way to run away.

And anyway, she had information about Jeremy. Sherlock was desperate for any kind of information considering the boy and where he was now, and if it took one dinner with Irene to figure it out, he'd do it.

The car started driving away, pulling on to the main street. Whatever restaurant she had suggested had bound to be somewhere a bit far; considering the only diners and restaurants around here were not places Irene would frequent.

Sherlock either.

He pulled out his phone and checked his messages, finding none. He had informed John about the dinner, and the teacher was a bit concerned, although he didn't say anything to stop Sherlock from going.

John knew Sherlock was smart and needed to know about what had happened. He had expressed his worry, but let the detective go anyway.

Sherlock had told John about it in case he didn't return that night, so that at least someone would know where he was.

"If I'm not back by 12 and you don't receive a phone call from me; **not** a text, a phone call; come looking for me," was what he had told John.

He silently prayed that Irene wouldn't do anything drastic. Sherlock still _really_ wanted to go on the date he and John had tomorrow.

**:~*~:**

A few minutes later, the car stopped in front of one of England's best 5 star restaurants. Sherlock was glad he had decided to wear something a bit dressy today, and he got out of the car and entered the building.

A doorman took one look at Sherlock and smiled warmly. "Mr. Holmes. This way please," and mentioned to the detective to follow him.

Sherlock gingerly followed the man to a secluded table in the back of the restaurant. There were a few customers here, mostly posh people deciding to have a late dinner. It was a very high end place and everyone seemed to be wearing suits and dresses; as well as Irene.

She was dressed in a low cut red gown, and had her hair pinned up with a few loose curls framing her face. She wore red lipstick that matched her gown perfectly and her pale and somewhat chalky complexion finished the look.

She looked up as Sherlock approached the table and greeted him with her signature smile.

"Sherlock, so glad you could make it," she purred, watching as he sat down in front of her.

"Well, you didn't give me much of a choice," he retorted.

"Hmm, sassy today aren't we?" she smiled. "Would you like anything to drink or eat?"

Sherlock hummed. "I'll have a Sauvignon Blanc, thank you."

"And here I thought Mr. Holmes didn't know anything about fine white wine," Irene said with a small wink.

"You're going to let me order it?" Sherlock asked. "I'm not of legal age to drink wine."

"I'm going to oversee that for tonight. And anyways, I know very well you drink wine, coming from a very grand and cultured family."

Sherlock slowly nodded.

The Woman turned to the waitress and gave their orders. Neither of them was ordering anything to eat, obviously not hungry and wanting to get to their conversation as quickly as possible.

"How's the new girlfriend?" Sherlock asked after deducing it off of her.

A look of utter disbelief flashed through Irene's face for a second before she smirked. "Good, thank you. You should meet her one day; she's very passionate about science as you are. Her name's Molly."

"Are you two actually dating or is she...you know...?"

Irene smirked. "Go on?"

"Is she into the things you do?" Sherlock asked, a surge of embarrassment flowing through him. He didn't know why he was embarrassed to ask that; really, he wasn't ever embarrassed about anything. He walked naked with a sheet around his torso around campus half of the time, but this time he felt shy about asking such a thing.

"Both. She's a bit naïve and innocent, though. Not usually my type, but..." she shrugged.

Their drinks arrive and Irene watched as Sherlock took small sips of his wine. She seemed a bit nervous and she bit her lips a few time, before sighing.

"I know about Jeremy, Sherlock."

Sherlock put his glass down. "Well, obviously."

She rolled her eyes at his answer. "You and your snarky remarks. I'm trying to be compassionate, but it seems like you're having none of it."

"How much do you know?"

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," she said, her eyes genuinely sad. "What he did to you wasn't right; I of all people know how much important consent is."

"Thank you for your concern."

She nodded. "I hope you come to your senses and have a restraining order put against him. I could help you, you know. I have people who could do the job quietly, without people finding out. Your brother could do that, too."

"I've thought about it. I suppose I'll give more thought to it when my mind has cleared up," Sherlock sipped his drink again. "So tell me what you know."

"A few days after the incident, I've noticed _things_ missing from my room."

Sherlock's eyebrows rose. "That's it?"

"No. Those things shouldn't have gone missing; you need a card and a passcode to enter my room and everything. Only a few people have it, including a few of my servants and Molly."

"So…you think Molly stole your 'things'."

Irene rolled her eyes and sighed. "You don't understand. These 'things' are the needles containing a substance to make your muscles relax. It makes you sort of lose control of your body. I constantly use it...when, you know." She gave him an all-knowing look.

"I think Jeremy got his hands on one."

Sherlock felt a shiver run down his spine.

"He must have used it on you. I don't know how he got them, you can't even buy them in shops usually...I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"It's not your fault," he finally said, much to Irene's surprise. "Really, it's not. He must have gotten them somewhere. Thank you for telling me, though."

She nodded, twisting her hands together. "He's off in Oxford, staying with some family members, I presume. His brother went after him a while back, but I hear he's coming back to uni soon."

Sherlock didn't care about Christopher, and he didn't hold a grudge toward the boy either. His brother was a bad person and he had hurt him, but Chris didn't take part in it.

"That's all I know. I'm going to find out more, and I'll be sure to inform you of new information," Irene said, finishing her glass of wine. Stopping herself, she suddenly smirked and her eyes gleamed mischievously. "Oh, wait. I know more."

"Really? Tell me more then," Sherlock said impatiently.

"Oh, I'm sorry love, I wasn't talking about the whole Jeremy thing." Irene's grin grew wider and she stared Sherlock down.

Sherlock thought for a minute and chose his words carefully. "What do you know?"

"Don't play dumb with me," she finally laughed. "I know about you and John."

Sherlock flushed and tore his eyes away, looking out the window. "You know nothing. There's nothing to know."

"Of course there is! I find you two absolutely lovely together," she said, patting Sherlock's hand. "Lovely couple."

Sherlock stiffened. Knowing Irene, she could use this piece of information as a form of blackmail. It will be useful to stay on her good side, in case she decided to blackmail him and John.

"Don't blab about it to everyone, Irene. It's personal."

"Of course not, darling dear," she promised.

"Especially not anyone in uni or any of the teachers. I don't want him fired for this."

"Oh, Sherlock. The thing is I really don't care that he's your teacher. Or that you're his student, for that matter. I really have a thing for student/teacher relationships," she said with a grin.

Sherlock managed a chuckle. "You pervert."

"Make it last, Sherlock. You two really do make a nice couple. Don't hesitate to call me if you want to...spice things up a little, hmm?"

She winked, placed a check for the drinks on the table and grabbed her coat. The detective watched as a man he had previously not noticed stand up from the back of the room and escort her out. She blew him a kiss, walked outside the restaurant and was gone.

**:~*~:**

Instead of walking home that night (he had learned his lesson about walking home late at night in unfamiliar places), Sherlock hailed a cab. He got home in 10 minutes and practically ran to his dorm, slamming the key in and locking the door after him.

The first thing he did was grab his phone to call John. It was only 7 P.M, and he suspected the teacher wasn't asleep yet, considering it was a school night and he probably had things to grade.

He dialed the number and John picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi John," Sherlock said, wincing as he heard his overly-exited and peppy voice out loud. He noticed his voice became like that anytime he talked to or was around John.

"Good evening, Sherlock. How are you?"

"Good. The dinner was fine. I learned a few things about Jeremy."

Sherlock filled John about the information he had learned that night. John gave thoughtful 'hmms' and 'ah-s' throughout the conversation, and when Sherlock was done speaking, he realized how fast the words and deductions had flowed out of his mouth.

"That's all I know," he finally said, out of breath. "Irene said she would contact me if she had any more information."

"That's a very good start. You could try and tell Mycroft that too, yeah?"

"It's only seven at night; Mycroft's busy eating cake. I'll tell him tomorrow, probably."

He heard John's soft chuckle. "You're so mean to him, Sherlock."

"No I'm not. Live with him for a day and you'd want to push him off the nearest cliff."

"Rude," the teacher said, suppressing another chuckle. "So, I'm guessing I should still come pick you up for the café tomorrow?"

Sherlock smiled. "Of course."

They talked a bit after that, and later said their goodbyes and good-nights.

He was back to being alone in the dorm, and he didn't like the silence, (for once). He turned on the telly and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

The silence was interrupted moments later by a sharp knock at the door. Sherlock froze midair, and slowly put the kettle down without making a noise.

_Maybe if I'm quiet, the person will go away._

There was another knock and Sherlock cursed, moving swiftly to the bedroom. He contemplated calling John again, but decided against it. Shoving his hand underneath his mattress, he pulled out John's gun and took the safety out.

Sherlock tip-toed to the door and stood against it, breathing slowly. Whoever this person was, they weren't leaving. It wasn't Irene; the knock was way too strong for a woman like her.

It wasn't John, because John would call Sherlock before he even made it to the door. It wasn't Mycroft, because Mycroft would simply use the key he had 'borrowed' from Sherlock and let himself in without a sound.

Sherlock frowned, running a list of people inside his head as the person knocked again, stronger this time.

It wouldn't be mummy, right? Mummy didn't even know how to drive. It couldn't be Patrick or his girlfriend, because Sherlock hadn't spoken to them since the party.

That left one person; Jeremy.

But it surely couldn't be Jeremy either. The coward wouldn't show his face in town, much less show up in campus where half the students could recognize him.

Sherlock decided that the only way to find out was to open the door. He braced himself, clutched the gun thightly in his hands and called out.

"Who's there?"

There was a shuffle of feet as the person moved around and sighed. "Open the bloody door Sherlock; I know you're in there."

The detective slid the lock, taking his time to open the door. Slowly, a figure took shape; and that figure had a face.

Sherlock managed a crooked smile (that was neither friendly nor menacing).

"Good evening, Christopher."

* * *

**Omg I feel like cliffhangers are my trademark now (/ω＼) Hope you enjoyed this week's update! Let me hear your love (feed me with reviews)! ~Lissa**


	18. Chapter 18

As Sherlock served Christopher a cup of tea, he surveyed the man sitting in front of him.

Christopher had changed a lot; and not for the better. He was much skinner than the last time he had seen him, and his face was a place grey color instead of the vibrant beige it always was. Chris was never skinny, or fat for that matter, but he had always had a bit of roundness to him.

All of that was gone.

Sherlock sat down in front of him and started drinking his own tea. He watched as Chris slowly sipped the hot beverage, adverting his eyes so that they wouldn't meet the young detective.

Sherlock wanted answers, but he didn't want to scare the man off. He swallowed back his anger and curiousness and waited for him to speak.

"Jeremy's gone, you know," a soft voice began to say. Christopher put down his cup and sighed. "He's gone."

"Is he? Where has he run off too?"

"He went to stay with our grandparents in Oxford. Once he heard that I was after him, he packed his things and left. Didn't leave a goodbye note or nothin', didn't even explain where he was going or why he left."

Sherlock's eyebrows rose. "Go on."

"I don't know where he is now. He had a bit of money in the bank, and he could've purchased a plane ticket to bloomin' Australia for all I know. He's gone and he isn't coming back. What did I do wrong?"

The detective sighed and put down his cup. "What did _you_ do wrong? You've never stopped to think that maybe the reason your brother ran away was because of something _he_ did wrong?"

"Well yeah, but…"

"He tried to rape me, Christopher."

The silence that followed Sherlock's sentence was deafening. The man in front of him seemed to convulse for a second, before he looked up, meeting Sherlock's eyes.

His eyes were blank, at first. Two green pools of nothing; no emotion whatsoever. It was after a while that the realness of what Sherlock had revealed dawned upon him, and his eyes flashed with anger.

"When did this happen?" he asked with clenched fists. He couldn't bring himself to look at Sherlock; the shame he was feeling at the moment was too much.

"A while ago. I didn't tell the police."

"Why the bloody hell not?! You should've contacted the police as soon as it happened and they could've caught him!"

"You don't understand," Sherlock said. "My brother…didn't deal with it very well. He has lots of power and if he got his hands on him, he would've made sure Jeremy regretted ever being born. He was threatening to call his snipers and hit-men; your brother would've been dead first thing in the morning."

Christopher tore his eyes away from the floor and looked up at Sherlock. He saw how calm and collected the detective was, compared to him; and honestly, it made him angry.

"You let him get away with it?"

It was Sherlock's turn to scoff and roll his eyes. " _I'm_ not going to let him get away with it. My _brother_ isn't going to let him get away with it. Even though I've told him to stay out of my business and not call the police, Mycroft's probably tracing his whereabouts now."

"Don't kill him," Chris said, his eyes pleading. "Send him off to jail or in front of a judge or something, but please don't kill him. I want to talk to him."

"You're going to have to speak to my brother about that. Mycroft isn't very forgiving, but if you want to talk to him I'll give you his phone number."

Christopher nodded.

"Don't be surprised if you wake up in some abandoned warehouse or something. He likes to kidnap people."

"Um…okay?"

Sherlock smiled stiffly, picked up their empty cups and headed to the kitchen. He heard Chris shuffle his feet and sigh a few times as he washed the dishes slowly.

"Look, on behalf of my stupid ass brother, I deeply apologize for what he's done to you, Sherlock. It wasn't right; no matter how messed up Jeremy is."

Sherlock nodded a few times and continued to clean up the kitchen. He turned his back on Chris and pretended to be busy for a while, hoping the man would pick up his things and leave.

Although Sherlock absolutely despised washing dishes and cleaning up, he did it when he didn't want to talk to people anymore. It was one way to declare that the conversation had ended and that it was time to leave.

Christopher seemed to understand that.

"I'll be leaving now," he said, picking up his coat. "I'm going to stay in Jeremy's dorm indefinitely. I'll pick up my things tomorrow afternoon, if that's okay with you?"

"Don't bother, really," Sherlock put some dishes away in the cabinet. "My brother wants to move me to another dorm. I guess this one will belong to you after I'm gone. You can pick up some necessities and your books, but don't bother with furniture."

"...Alright. Well, goodnight."

Chris didn't wait for Sherlock's answer and walked out the door. As soon as Sherlock heard his footsteps get further away, he stood up and locked the door.

He considered calling John and telling him what had just happened, but again decided against it. He would just tell him tomorrow when they had their date.

_Date._

Sherlock, instantly forgetting all the troubles with Jeremy and Christopher, smiled and giggled like a school girl. He couldn't wait until tomorrow.

**:~*~:**

As the clock approached 4 P.M, Sherlock couldn't contain his excitement anymore. Even after telling himself over and over that it was just a date and that it wasn't a big deal, he was still very jumpy and nervous.

He had already changed his clothes twice and taken an hour long bath; even if in the end he settled for his usual trousers and blue buttoned shirt. Sherlock Holmes never _ever_ groomed himself that much for anyone, _ever_ , and this was very new to him.

John came to pick him up at exactly 4 P.M that afternoon. They drove for about 15 minutes before John stopped the car at a nice little café on the outskirts of town.

It was a small little place, probably run by a close knit family. Business seemed to be booming and the sweet aroma of coffee and sweets filled their noses as soon as they entered the place.

Once seated, Sherlock finally looked at John. The man was wearing his trademark jeans and had ditched his wooly pullovers for a nice stripped sweater. He was cleanly shaven and his hair looked a bit wet…probably from a shower. He smelled divine; Sherlock would never get enough of John's cologne.

"You're studying me," John said, smiling and picking up the menu.

"I'm sorry, it's what I do."

"That's alright; I've become quite used to it. Learning anything new?"

Sherlock cocked his head and hummed. "I wouldn't say so. Whenever I look at you, it's like a big question mark. I can't deduce things off of you quite easily, like I could do to a random stranger. I've got to keep digging and digging to find out things about you."

"That's how I'd like to keep it, thank you. It wouldn't be fun if I was easy to read, like an open book."

Sherlock flashed John a smile and picked up the menu as well. He ordered a cup of coffee, and after a bit of nagging from John, a plate of chocolate filled croissants as well. John ordered the same, and they waited for the waitress to bring them their food.

Sherlock didn't want to bring up Christopher; he felt like this wasn't a good time to bring this to the table. This was _his_ and John's time alone and he'd like to make the most of it.

A lady with long blonde hair appeared a few minutes later, carrying their drinks and food. She had her hair in a bun on the top of her head and wore a pink apron; which matched her lipstick perfectly. She smiled at Sherlock and John, and put their order down.

"Here you go," she said with a little mousy voice. "Enjoy."

John smiled and thanked her, while Sherlock's eyes followed the girl all the way back to the kitchen. When she was out of sight, he turned to John and took a deep breath.

"She's started a new relationship not too long ago," he started to say. "She likes science, baking, cats, and seems to have a passion for dead people."

"Dead people?"

"She smells faintly of embalming fluid; so she probably works in an autopsy center of some kind."

John took a sip of his coffee and narrowed his eyes. "And you know how dead people smell like because?"

"When I was younger I'd always go to the morgue, usually on weekends. Loads of fun, you should come sometimes, I still go on Wednesdays and Saturdays."

"The morgue."

"Uh huh."

"With dead people."

"Yep."

"You're one of a kind, Sherlock," John said, laughing. "Is that all you can tell about her?"

"She was running late this morning; you can tell by how messy her bun is and that she hadn't finished putting on her makeup. She has...three cats, I presume by the amount of cat hair on her clothes. She likes to paint; her fingernails have some paint under them and they are roughened after years of holding art utensils."

John listened, amazed by the detective's deductions.

"She has bruises on her wrists and some on her collarbones. This usually indicates abusive relationships, but..." Sherlock thought of Irene and smirked. "She's probably into some kinky things."

John chocked on his coffee and looked at Sherlock strangely. "You know all of this by just looking at her?"

"Yes. But it's really hard to do that to you, you're really hard to deduce."

"Okay then, what's her name?"

Sherlock blinked. "Her name? She looks like a Sydney. Or maybe an Amanda, but I believe her name starts with an M. She was wearing a necklace with the letter M on it, so it could be her initial or maybe the initial of her lover...perhaps it's Melissa?"

"Molly."

Sherlock smiled. "How could you possibly know that?"

John returned the detective's smile and said, "That's what the name badge on her shirt says."

Sherlock blinked a few times again. "Of course...Molly."

John laughed at Sherlock's embarrassment, and Sherlock stuffed his face with a croissant to avoid talking again in case he said something stupid.

**:~*~:**

They've been sitting together for a while before John sighed. "My parents used to bring me here a lot, you know," he started to say, looking out the window. "They used to bring me here every Christmas and Easter. It was sort of like a family tradition."

Sherlock nodded, giving John a look that urged him to continue.

"I started working here when I was 14. Made a bit of pocket money to blow on video games and such." John smiled, remembering a distant memory. "Then I left for the army."

Sherlock's heart warmed, knowing that this was something John probably didn't share with a lot of people.

"Did your parents ever bring you to places like this? For you know, family time?" John asked.

"Family time? No. Unless you consider going hunting during the fall 'family time'."

"So you don't even eat dinner together? No cuddles or kisses when you and your brother were kids?" John looked sad.

"I always ate alone. Mycroft got to eat with Mummy and father at the dinner table when he turned 13, but I always ate by myself in the kitchen with the cook for company. I got used to it," he said with a shrug. "When my father died we continued the tradition. I only could start eating with Mycroft and Mummy when I turned 13 and was old enough to be considered at the dinner table."

"Geesh, your childhood was harsh."

"Tell me about it," Sherlock scoffed. "I'm happy to be away from there. Mummy's gone loony and soft, she isn't the woman she was before. She's a lot affectionate, though."

"Hmm-hm."

They sat in silence, their plates and cups empty and their minds full with new information they've learned from each other.

"I want to make this work, Sherlock," John said suddenly, staring out the window. "I really do."

"We can. I'm guessing it won't be easy, but we can make it work." Sherlock looked at John hopefully.

"We can't be affectionate in school…people will start to talk."

"I know. But whenever we're alone, we can be as affectionate as we want, hmm?" Sherlock winked.

John's response to that was to swat at Sherlock's hand and smile. "Of course. If people get too suspicious...and if we start to get, you know, _serious_ about this relationship, I'll quit working at the university."

"Are you saying we're going to get serious one day?" Sherlock playfully asked.

"You know what I mean. But I don't want to jeopardize anything. If things do get serious, I'll get a job at the hospital. I still have a medical degree."

"What about me?"

"You'll keep going to uni of course, silly. Until you graduate, or until you decide you've got enough of university life ." There was a pause. "It's your life, remember."

"Yeah, but I'd like to share it with you," Sherlock said, his voice tiny.

John smiled. "You're sweet,"

The detective blushed and twiddled his thumbs.

"Have you told Mycroft?"

"Yeah, he knows. He was a bit angry at first, but he's probably over it. He's keeping an eye on you."

"He's _watching_ me?" John asked with huge eyes. "Does he have cameras or something?!"

Sherlock considered that and hummed. "Probably. But he isn't a pervert, so you don't have to worry or anything."

John narrowed his eyes.

"Okay, okay, he's a bit of a pervert. But no worries."

"The British government is watching me and tracking my every move! Of course I have to worry!"

"See, it isn't so bad, now is it? He just wants to make sure I'm safe."

"Of course you're safe with me, Sherlock," John said, holding his head up high. "I can take care of you, you know."

"Oh, I bet," the younger man said with a wink.

"Get your mind out of the gutter!"

While Sherlock was laughing, the teacher stood up and payed the check for their order. They put on their coats and walked out the door, back to the car.

Once inside, John turned on the ignition and waited for the car to heat up.

"Thanks for the lovely date, John," Sherlock smiled. "It was marvelous."

"You're welcome, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm also glad we got to talk," John said, returning the smile. "You're a very interesting person."

"Am I?"

"Of course. You don't think so?"

"Well of course I do, John, I'm brilliant and intelligent."

"You cocky little bastard,"

"Hey, you're the one who's called me 'brilliant' and 'amazing', so you can't get mad if I use those adjectives to describe myself!" Sherlock defended himself.

He suddenly got a bright idea, and swung his legs on either side of John. He propped himself up and then arranged himself comfortably on John's lap.

John sighed. "I'm guessing sitting on people without telling them first is a habit of yours I've got to get used to,"

"Yep. And anyways, you're very warm and comfortable, so I don't mind this at all," Sherlock mumbled as he layed his head in the crook of John's neck.

John gave in and held onto Sherlock's back.

"I'm going to take this as an invitation to kiss you," Sherlock said, much to John's delight.

He softly kissed John's neck and then slowly made his way up, finally meeting John's lips with his own. Sinking into the kiss, Sherlock wrapped his hands around John and the teacher furiously kissed back.

Sherlock didn't care that anyone could just look into the car and see both of them right there. In fact, it made him want to kiss John more. The possibility of getting caught made him exited.

The windows quickly became fogged and the two of them continued kissing, John leading Sherlock into a deeper kiss; Sherlock learning quickly new tricks and things that John liked.

Things started to get heated, and there was too much tongue on Sherlock's end. Everything was inexperienced and fast and to be honest, it was perfect.

Just perfect.

And as quickly as Sherlock had initiated the kiss, he ended it.

Both of them were left panting and out of breath, their faces pink and lips swollen. Sherlock smirked, leapt off John's lap and back into his own seat.

He knew how bothered he had made John and he liked it.

"Are you going to take me home, John Watson, or are we going to just stay here all night long?"

John looked at Sherlock unbelievably, and shook his head, smiling.

He started the car again and pulled out the parking lot, heading for the university campus.

"My statement still stands. Sherlock Holmes, you're a smug little bastard."

* * *

**School is starting on Monday so I wrote this to calm my nerves a little...hope you liked this chapter as much as I did! Please review!**


	19. Chapter 19

It's been five weeks since Sherlock and John had their coffee date, and they've been talking a lot more. John occasionally took time off from grading papers and went out with Sherlock for a quick bite to eat and maybe a cup of tea or two.

They've never realized how dependent of each other they have become. Although they didn't have exactly everything in common, they completed each other in ways even they couldn't understand. Maybe it was true that opposites are most likely to attract.

It was certainly true for Sherlock and John.

John understood Sherlock. He understood everything about him, he wasn't like the others. He never got pissed off when Sherlock was in one of his 'moods'; he never berated Sherlock for wanting to spend time alone and away from everyone sometimes. He always listened to him when he had something to say, he agreed with, comforted, and understood the young man.

When Sherlock turned 18, he showed up to the not-so-young-anymore detective's dorm with the chocolate croissants Sherlock had loved and a wrapped package under his arm. He was the first to call and wish him happy birthday, he was the first (and quite frankly the only one) to give Sherlock a warm hug. He had kissed Sherlock's mop of curls and presented the gift to him.

Sherlock had stared at the package for the longest time, not knowing what to do or say. No one outside his family had ever given him a gift, not even his numerous aunts or uncles. He had accepted it with a timid smile and a tint of blush on his cheeks, and slowly tore open the gift.

When his eyes rested on the object wrapped carefully under the box, his eyes shone and he smiled brightly up at John. He forgot all about his staidness and stoic personality and jumped up to give John a kiss.

John breathed out a sigh of relief and kissed the man back, relieved that Sherlock had liked his present.

A brand new and expensive model of the latest chemistry set and microscope was in the box John had given him. It was exactly what Sherlock wanted; in fact, he would have gone out and bought it for himself if it wasn't for John's thoughtfulness.

The microscope and chemistry set had become his third most prized object, apart from his blue scarf, coat, and violin. He used it almost every day, and unlike his other possessions, he cleaned it carefully after use and put it away safely in its original box.

John had never seen Sherlock so happy. Sherlock was an entirely different person, in mind and in body. He ate more (under John's watchful eyes) and soon his bony feeble knees and elbows became sturdy and strong. He had stopped smoking, if you didn't count the occasional cigarette he allowed himself after solving a particularly hard chemistry problem.

Sherlock's eyes became brighter and fuller, and he held himself taller. The previous scars on his wrists and thighs were almost faded, thanks to John's medical degree. John applied soft balms on the marks every day until they were healed and faded. Sherlock hadn't picked up a blade since.

And John had probably changed as much as the detective did during these few weeks.

Sherlock didn't know it yet, but the nightmares had stopped. John began to forgive himself more after what had happened in Afghanistan. Although he only spent a few months there before he was injured and forced to come back home and begin his teaching career, the things he had seen had scarred him deeply.

And these deep scars have begun to heal and reconcile.

John cared about Sherlock as much as he cared about Harry. The man brought so much happiness and vividness into his usually boring life. He had taught John about many things, just as John had taught Sherlock.

They never did take it further than kissing, and John was completely fine with that. Although Sherlock was 18 and therefore a legal adult, they never felt the need to do something different. They didn't have sex; they didn't need to.

Sherlock had an extra key to John's flat (actually, John had never given it to him. Sherlock had made a double and let himself in whenever he liked.) He visited John when he was lonely or didn't feel like being alone in the dorm, and the teacher had let him.

They usually shared and bed and cuddled. John knew Sherlock was a bit afraid of sexual relationships, and he never pressured him to go any further. They cuddled and kissed instead.

Sherlock Holmes' cuddles were really something else.

John had gotten so accustomed to the way to young man cuddled. His long and lanky legs wrapped against John's body, and he draped his arms around John's neck. He always brought his body close to him, so close that there was no space in between them, and his neck always rested on John's collarbones, where his curly mop of hair would be in John's face.

He held on so tight, as if he was afraid of letting John go.

It was absolutely amazing during cold winter nights, and because of their close proximity, their shared body heat would create a blanket of warmth under the sheets.

Sherlock had John, and John had Sherlock, and it was the only thing that mattered.

**:~*~:**

One Friday evening, after a particularly boring day, Sherlock made his way into John's apartment. He didn't bother ringing, guessing that John was probably home. After closing the door behind him and moving to the living room, he hung his coat on the rack and removed his shoes.

"John?" a feminine voice rang out.

Sherlock froze, his hands still untying his shoelaces. He carefully took them off and padded towards the sound of the voice in his socks, not making a noise.

"John, is that you? Don't scare me, you know I hate that," the lady said again, her hands on her hips. Sherlock crouched under a chair and held his breath as she made her way towards the living room.

He eyed her closely. She wore a deep blue shirt and white jeans, and had long, red auburn hair tied securely in a ponytail. She was short, curvy, and had light blue-grey eyes that sparkled under the light of the room. She looked a bit like John; the way she lightly skipped when she walked, and her eyes matched the teacher perfectly.

_This must be Harry._

"John you little shit, come out right now," she said again.

Sherlock smirked at that and stood up from his hiding place, popping up exactly in front of her. She squealed loudly and took a few steps back, before tripping on a bag placed on the floor.

"I'm sorry, have I scared you?" Sherlock asked innocently, reaching over and helping her up. She took his hand and was brought back to her feet.

"Uh…thank you, I guess?"

"You guess?"

She looked at Sherlock with big blue eyes. "I don't know who you are; you could be some kind of murder for all I know. So I don't know whether to thank you for helping me up, or run away and call the police."

Sherlock smiled and sat down. "A simple thank you would suffice. And I assure you, I am no murderer. Well...that depends."

Her face broke out into a smile of recognition and she tucked a strand of hair over her ear. "You must be Sherlock. John warned me about you."

"Did he?"

"Oh, yes. He said you might introduce yourself as a murderer or sociopath. He told me to not take your word for it and that you're a wonderful person."

Before Sherlock had the time to answer, a tiny voice spoke out. "Mummy?"

Harry quickly looked back and walked toward the voice. "Katie? Mummy's here sweetie, is there something wrong?"

A little girl with two red pigtails and a melted ice cream cone toddled into the living room. She reached for her mum and Harry picked her up, wiping her messy face with a tissue.

"Noise," she mumbled before licking the ice cream again. "Scared."

"I know sweetie, mummy just fell down. This gentleman helped me up," she explained, pointing to Sherlock.

The little girl looked at Sherlock for the first time since she entered the room. Her eyes were a vibrant black and she had a twinkle in them just like Harry did. She smiled timidly at Sherlock before hiding her face in her mummy's shirt.

"Oh don't mind her, Sherlock," she explained. "Katie's a bit shy."

Sherlock nodded and watched as Harry sat down with Katie in her lap. The girl hung on tightly to her ice cream and continued to make a mess. Harry patiently cleaned her up and spoke in soft tones to her.

Sherlock couldn't understand how patient some people were with kids. Harry was a perfect example.

"Is that your...?"

"Daughter," Harry said, straightening Katie's little yellow dress. "I adopted her last year, when she was just a little toddler. She isn't mine, since I can't have kids and I'm lesbian."

Harry laughed at her little joke and continued to wipe Katie's face.

"She has something of you," Sherlock finally said after observing the two of them.

"Really?"

"You two have the same complexion and the same hair. But there's something about her eyes."

"Katie's a bit behind in her development. She can't really talk well and can't hold short conversations, even though she is past the age where you begin talking."

"I'm sorry,"

Harry nodded. "We brought her to many doctors before, but they don't know what to do. In fact, that's exactly why we're here. A specialist has called and arranged an appointment for tomorrow, so I'm going to be staying with Johnny for a while."

_No cuddles for a few nights, then._

"That's okay. I hope everything turns out all right."

Harry's face brightened up and she smiled. "Thank you, Sherlock. See, John was right, you are nice."

A slow blush spread up Sherlock's neck.

The door suddenly opened and John walked in with a few bags from Tesco. He set his keys down and took off his coat when he saw Harry, Katie and Sherlock in the living room.

"Hello," he greeted them with his trademark warm smile. "Didn't know you were coming round, Sherlock."

"Just stopped by to see how you were doing. I see you have company," the young man answered.

"Yes, that's my—,"

"Sister," Sherlock finished for him. "And daughter. All coming from Ipswich, took the first train available this morning."

Harry raised her eyebrows and was about to say something before John shook his head. "Don't even bother, Harry. Even _I_ don't know how he does it."

"Jawn!" Katie squealed gleefully with recognition. She leapt of her mother's lap and ran towards the teacher. He picked her up kissed her cheek.

"Princess, how you've been?" he asked her.

"Jawn, man. Today. On...chair."

John had no problem understanding her and he nodded. "That's Sherlock. He's very nice, have you said hi?"

She blushed and shook her head, hiding it again in John's sweater.

"Go ahead and say hi, Katie."

John put her down and she slowly made her way towards Sherlock, who was silently panicking. He never had any contact with little kids, he preferred not to. He didn't like their crying and how fragile they were, he was absolutely terrified of 'breaking them'.

Katie stood in front of him and lifted up her arms. When Sherlock didn't do anything and looked towards his boyfriend questioningly, John chuckled.

"She wants you to pick her up, Sherlock."

"Me?"

Harry shook her head and chuckled as well. "Of course. Go ahead, you won't hurt her. She's a bit heavy, though."

Sherlock reached down and picked the little girl up. She wasn't heavy at all; in fact, she was lighter than some textbooks he had to carry every day. He settled her on his lap and she brought her lips to Sherlock's face, and pecked him softly.

"Sh'lock,"

He couldn't help but smile. "Hello," he timidly said.

"Hi, Sh'lock,"

Harry laughed and went over to unpack the groceries John had brought home. "I'm going to make some risotto for dinner. In the meantime, would you like a cuppa tea?"

Sherlock looked up. "Oh, I don't want to intrude,"

"Nonsense!" Harry waved him off. "You're here and you might as well enjoy a nice home cooked dinner. Heaven knows what they feed you at school."

Sherlock thanked her and turned his attention back to Katie. She had her hands tangled in Sherlock's curls and was playing with them, giggling to herself.

John, satisfied with how everything was, went to help his sister in the kitchen. Within a few minutes, Katie and Sherlock could hear the two siblings bickering about which type of cheese was better for the risotto.

Everything was well. Soon, the smell of the food filled the flat and the cups of tea (and apple juice) Harry had brought for the detective and Katie were settled in their stomachs, warming them up.

By the end of the evening, Sherlock had managed to teach Katie the five most important elements on the periodic table.

* * *

**I'm crying this is so cute omg**

**Hope you guys enjoyed this week's update as much as I did! Even if school is overwhelming (and quite frankly, boring as hell), I enjoy writing these little updates, knowing how happy they make you! Thanks again for all the reviews, I read them** **all** **and I love how each of you take a bit of time to review each chapter. How did you guys like this one? Good, I hope? ~Lissa**


	20. Chapter 20

**How's Katie? –SH**

**She's doing alright. Harry brought her to the doctor today, so they'll be staying in hospital for a few days during the tests. –JW**

**I hope they figure out what's wrong with her. –SH**

**I hope they do too. She was asking about you this morning! –JW**

**Really?! –SH**

**I'm surprised too. She usually doesn't remember people's names, unless she sees them almost every day. She's taking a liking to you, Sherlock. –JW**

Sherlock smiled as he read the text message from John and quickly typed back a response. It's only been a day since their dinner with Harry and Katie, and it seems the little girl hasn't yet forgotten about Sherlock. They really had a lovely time together last night; the way the little girl thinks and Sherlock's sheer intelligence and ingenuity balance each other out perfectly.

The tea kettle's screech brought him back to reality and he threw the phone on the bed, walking quickly to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of tea.

Mycroft had stuck to his promise and moved Sherlock into a bigger dorm, usually reserved for students willing to pay more for the luxurious space. The doors were a lot sturdier and security cameras were also installed everywhere, despite Sherlock's protests.

It was a lot quieter at night as well; no noise from other neighboring dorms ever reached him. He preferred that a lot better because that meant he could play his violin at 3 A.M without any complaints from other students.

While he stirred his cup of tea, his phone buzzed with a new message. Expecting nothing else than John's answer to his previous message, he rushed to his room and checked his phone.

**Little brother, how are you? –MH**

Sighing, he put down his cup and rubbed his temples. Mycroft doesn't text; he never does, unless he's in a position where he isn't able to talk.

**What do you want? –SH**

**Why is it that every time I check up on you, you always assume I want something? You know very well I can get anything I want without asking you. How rude. –MH**

**Just tell me. –SH**

**Mum's coming over. –MH**

**What?! When? Why? Is she alright? –SH**

**Of course she is. I take good care of our mother, you know. –MH**

**Then why is she coming over? –SH**

Sherlock waited impatiently for Mycroft's response. Unfortunately for him, Mycroft was the slowest texter that ever walked on the surface of the planet. He waited another 3 minutes for the awaited text message.

**She says she misses you, and that she hadn't had the time to visit you to wish you happy birthday. So she's coming now. That's why I'm texting instead of calling you, so she won't know I'm informing you of her arrival. She wants it to be a 'surprise.' We're in the car right now. –MH**

Another minute passes.

**I think she's onto us. She keeps on giving me glances; she obviously knows I'm telling you. –MH**

**Well then try to be more subtle about it Mycroft! –SH**

**Too late. Just clean up the place a little. I've taken care of dinner. –MH**

**What do you mean you've taken care of dinner?! If you think I'm ingesting whatever you've managed to make, I'm letting you know right now that I'd rather die than eat anything you've cooked. Ever. –SH**

**Rude. –MH**

**I'd rather mum makes something to eat for us when she gets there. There's cooking stuff in the fridge, I think. –SH**

**Make sure you remove any decaying fingers and molding legs from the fridge, you don't want to give mum a heart attack. –MH**

**But they have to stay in there otherwise my experiment is ruined! –SH**

**Sherlock, take them out. Now. –MH**

Even when he texts, Mycroft's authority is quite visible, and Sherlock is obliged to comply.

Sulking and pouting to himself, he trudges to the kitchen and hides his experiments. Mum had never approved and seeing them would probably make her upset.

As much as Sherlock wants to get away from his old life, he realizes he could never really stay away from his mother. She would follow him to the edge of the world if that was what it took for her to apologize for the way she and her husband treated Sherlock and Mycroft when they were younger.

But Sherlock had to forgive his mum. He had to. He would never forgive _himself_ if she died with sorrow on her heart; and to be truthful, he loved his mum.

It wasn't her fault that she treated him as if he were a stranger in her own home when he was a child; it was all his father's doing. Their father was very controlling, and if their mum did as much as show a bit of love and affection for her children, there was hell to pay.

Maybe Mycroft was right. Maybe there really _was_ something wrong with the two of them. They grew up in such a reserved and cold household, there's no wonder they became shrewd and unforgiving like their father.

When their father went away on business trips, the Holmes household always took a change for the best. There would be hugs and kisses and their mum would make them chocolate milk every night, and they would get bed time stories. Sherlock and Mycroft would stop calling their mummy 'Miss' out of respect and would get comfortable with the terms 'mummy' and 'mum'.

They would go outside and take walks after dinner, hand in hand, their mummy telling them sweet little nursery rhymes that had always made Sherlock giggle and Mycroft roll his eyes. Sometimes, when Mr. Holmes went away for more than a week, mummy would bring them to town and they would go to fairs. They would eat cotton candy and popcorn until they got sick to their stomachs, and then they would ride the huge Ferris wheel over and over again until they got dizzy.

They rarely had contact with other kids their age, but when they did, they didn't know how to act.

Mummy understood that.

She would then bring them back home and they would go into the stables at the back of the large estate. They would ride horses and sometimes mummy would race Mycroft, letting him win in the end to make the little boy feel triumphant. Sometimes, after horse racing, they would go to the lake to cool off. Sherlock and Mycroft would strip and then jump in the cool water, splashing and making a mess like little kids do.

They would then pull their mother into the pool with them, laughing at her when she screamed and frantically tried to get away. They would get her hair and clothes wet so she didn't have an excuse to get out, and then she would finally give in and splash water at them playfully.

She taught them how to swim in that lake.

In the evenings, mummy would give the cooks and servants the weekend off and she would cook their meals herself; it was always mashed potatoes, turkey, vegetable soup and hot tea and biscuits to eat after.

 _"Isn't this peasant food?"_ Mycroft would ask at first, turning his nose up at the bland meal that was set before him. Even as a little boy, he became so accustomed to the rich and tasty food their cooks would prepare. Something new every night; curry, sushi, dumplings, duck…everything was so carefully prepared and served. But their mum would laugh and shake her head, before spooning some of the food in two plates for her sons and watching them shovel it down. _"This is what I used to eat every day before your father married me."_

Sherlock would always gain a few pounds when Mr. Holmes was gone for more than a month or two. Mummy was always delighted to see her youngest feeble son shovel her 'peasant meals' down his throat and ask for seconds. His cheeks would fill out a little and his skin would become a soft baby pink. His eyes were fuller and brighter and he would laugh like the little carefree boy he was supposed to be.

Mycroft and Sherlock always regarded those times as the happiest moments of their childhood.

But when Mr. Holmes would come back, everything would be just as they were before he left. The Holmes children would address their parents stiffly with 'Yes, Sir' and 'Yes, Miss.' There was no laughter, no warmth, no hugs before bedtime. The children were like two little strangers in a huge household.

The servants and cooks took pity on the children. They would sneak them sweets and a bit of creamy chocolate every so often, which was, to Sherlock and Mycroft, a delicacy compared to the 'grown up food' they were forced to eat daily.

It was when Sherlock was around 5 years old when he noticed that he didn't get the daily dose of love he was supposed to get every day as a child. Mycroft had noticed too, but had chosen not to say anything about it. It was even worse for Mycroft; only a young boy of 10 years old and already expected to know what he was supposed to study when he got older and which university he would attend.

When their father died, Sherlock was 15 and Mycroft had just started uni. The elder Holmes went as far as he could go, away from his childhood traumas and away from their estate. Away from their mum and Sherlock himself. It took months before Sherlock forgave Mycroft for leaving him alone with mum and father in the household.

Sherlock shook his head to get rid of these depressing thoughts.

He barely had the time to clean up the dorm a little before he heard a car outside.

After checking himself in the mirror, he went ahead and opened the door. Outside was mummy in her favorite purple coat and Mycroft standing next to her protectively. She smiled when she saw her youngest son and ran forward to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"My little Lockie," she said, patting his curls. "My little Sherlock, I've missed you so much. Look how grown you are!"

"Mum, it's only been a few months since you last saw me," Sherlock said, kissing his mother back. As much as he tried not to smile, he gave his mum a small grin.

"Oh hush, you've grown about a foot since I've last seen you."

"Mum, now you're exaggerating." Mycroft walked into the dorm and the two followed.

"Don't be jealous, Mycroft," mummy said, taking Sherlock's hand and patting his cheeks. "My little Lockie has grown so much. Put on a bit of weight as well, look how round his cheeks are. Been eating healthy, hmm?"

"Yes, mum."

Sherlock fought the urge to call her 'Miss' again. It always took him a minute or two before he remembered that father wasn't here anymore to reinforce the strict rules of calling their mother 'Miss' instead of 'mummy.'

"I'm sure that teacher of his been making sure he eats very well," Mycroft mumbled, sitting down.

"What was that, dear?"

"I said, I'm sure that—"

"Nothing! Nothing, he meant nothing, Mis—mummy. Here, sit down, I'll bring you a cup of tea."

She smiled and sat down opposite Mycroft. Sherlock stared murderously at his elder brother and made his way into the kitchen, emerging a few minutes later with three cups of tea and a box of mum's favorite biscuits.

"Here you go mum," he said, giving her a cup and a small plate containing the biscuits.

"Oh, these are my favorites, aren't they? You still remembered!"

Resisting the urge to stick out his tongue at Mycroft, Sherlock sat down next to his mum and sipped his cup of tea.

They sipped their tea in amicable silence before Sherlock felt the strong urge to tell his mother about John.

Sherlock wanted to tell _everyone_ about John; but so far, the only few people who knew about his relationship with the teacher were Irene and Mycroft. He mustered the courage and looked at his mother.

"Mum, I've been seeing someone," he finally said.

Mummy raised her eyebrows and put down her cup. She dabbed carefully at her lips, all while staring mysteriously at her son.

"Oh? Do tell, Lockie."

"Um...he's...nice."

Upon hearing that, Mycroft scoffed insolently and rolled his eyes at Sherlock. "He's a lot more than just nice, Sherlock. Tell mum."

"Tell me what?" she asked, fixing her soft eyes on her youngest son.

"He's, uh...my...teacher?"

One minute passes. Two, and then three. Sherlock then thought about pulling it off as a joke before mum laughed.

"Your teacher? Oh Lord, Lockie, tell me this is a joke!"

"It's not. He's my teacher."

Mycroft started cackling. "Can you believe it, Miss? His **teacher**. The little fool's been seeing him for 4 months already!"

Mummy Holmes laughed. "Sherlock, don't get involved in heavy relationships. Are you guys serious yet?"

Embarrassed by all the laughing that had been going on, Sherlock flushed and pouted childishly. "No."

"Don't get too serious, love. Something's bound to happen. Relationships may seem all sweet and lovely at first, and then they get sour." She stared at him with all knowing eyes.

"Yes, mum."

"But he sounds like a nice lad," she finally says, cocking her head. "You seem a lot healthier since the last time I've seen you. A lot happier, too. He's good for you, isn't he?"

"I...really like him, mum. A lot."

"Make it last as long as you can, Lockie," she said, patting his hands and taking another sip of her tea. "I'd like to meet him one day."

As if on cue, the doorbell suddenly rang.

The two of them froze for a second, before looking at the locked door. Mycroft smirked and feigned ignorance.

Running a list of people in his head, Sherlock deduced that it could only be one person; John.

 _What a bloody nice time to stop by, John,_ Sherlock thought silently. _Just bloody perfect._

The bell rang again before Sherlock stood up to answer it. Walking as slow as he could, Sherlock opened the door and of course, John was standing behind it.

"Sherlock? Uh, hi...I got a message?"

"Did you?" Sherlock asked, teeth and jaw clenched.

"Yes...did you change your phone number? Because my phone didn't recognize this one."

Sherlock looked behind him and pushed himself and John outside.

"Hey, what the—"

_"Shh."_

John's eyes got huge.

_"Sherlock, if this is one of your weird kinky things, then I—"_

_"My mother's in there," he whispered,_ and John's eyes did nothing but grow wider.

_"What?"_

_"Mycroft's in there too. He must have texted you."_

_"Why?!"_

_"I guess he wants mum to meet you. Don't feel intimidated."_

_"What the hell, Sherlock, I'm not prepared for this!"_

_"Shh. Just...smile and answer her questions. She'll try to overpower you."_ Sherlock blinked a few times. _"Well. She'll succeed. But either way, just be polite and nod and give her your charming smile."_

_"My what?!"_

_"You know, that half smile you do when you want to get something. Like this."_ He dropped his eyes halfway and smirked. _"Okay? She's a sucker for well-presented men who smile a lot. She'll love you."_

_"But what if she doesn't?! What if she doesn't think I'm good for you? Bloody hell, Sherlock, I'm not ready for this."_

_"Neither am I. But you're going to have to do it anyway. Mycroft put us to this. Just make small talk and find an excuse to leave."_

"Sherlock, is everything alright?" Mycroft's teasing voice called out. His smirk grew winder as John came into view. "Oh, Dr. Watson, it's so nice to see you! What a lovely surprise, isn't that right, Miss?"

Mummy nodded politely and looked carefully at the stranger.

Sherlock glanced at John one final time before they both entered the room. The teacher slowly trudged to the couch and sat down stiffly next to Mycroft.

"Good day," he sweetly said to mummy Holmes. His voice had softened and he had on his charming smile. It had effect on her immediately.

"Good afternoon to you, sir," she said, smiling back. "And who do I have the pleasure to meet today?"

"John Watson," he said, standing up to bid her hello.

Sherlock watched with a horrified expression as John stood up. He forgot to mention that mummy doesn't shake hands; she was very old fashioned and expected everyone to kiss her softly on the hand like they used to do years ago.

A relieved sigh escaped his mouth as he watched John kiss his mummy's hands. She smiled warmly and was very pleased.

"What a lovely gentleman."

John flashed his trademark smile and sat back down.

"Well, Sherlock, aren't you going to tell mummy who this is?"

Everyone looked at the detective expectantly.

"Uh, yes. Mum, that's John."

She blinked.

"You know, John. We were just talking about him before he arrived. My, uh...boyfriend."

She suddenly perked up and looked at John again. "Really?"

John didn't know what to say, and just looked at mum with a smile still plastered stiffly on his face. Her eyes raked over his body; once, twice, before she looked into his eyes.

He had started to squirm under her firm gaze.

"Ah, yes, my youngest son's...boyfriend. Is that what you two call each other?"

John glanced at Sherlock. "Well, um, we haven't decided if we should call each other partners or boyfriends."

"Partners sounds nice. Doesn't it, Lockie?"

Sherlock nodded a few times.

Partners it is, then.

"He's a lovely young man. He's good for you, Sherlock," she said, pouring John a cup of tea.

John looked perplexed for a second before mummy grinned at him. "Don't worry, I'll run a nice background check on you when I get home. But from what I can telling, you're a good person."

A minute passes. "So, was it Iraq?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Afghanistan, mum. Come on, you can clearly see it."

"Hmm, you're right, Sherlock. Definitely Afghanistan. Wouldn't you say so, Mycroft?"

Mycroft, a little miffed that everything was going alright, nodded stiffly. "You know, at first I thought it was Iraq as well. But Sherlock's right; it's clearly Afghanistan."

The three Holmes continued to discuss John as if he wasn't even in the room. After a few minutes of arguing whether John was a sniper as well as an officer, John cleared his throat.

"I'm going to go now," he finally said. "The exams aren't going to grade themselves."

He stood up and put his cup of tea down. "It was wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Holmes."

"Please, call me Violet. I'm looking forward to seeing you again, John."

_Which meant she'll probably visit again to see John. Dammit._

John nodded and walked out. The Holmes family was alone again.

As soon as the door closed, mummy looked at Sherlock. "He's a good man, Sherlock," she said again. "Good lad."

Sherlock stuck out his tongue at Mycroft. "See? Mummy likes him," he said defensively.

"You're so childish Sherlock," Mycroft said, sticking his tongue out at his younger brother too for good measure. "And just because she likes him doesn't mean he'll stay."

"Shut up, you're only mad because mummy hasn't approved of that D.I you've been seeing!"

"I am not seeing a D.I!" Mycroft's face turned red and he crossed his arms like a child.

"Oh, so you're seeing someone else?! Doesn't have to be a D.I, you know!"

"I'm seeing no one! You're trying to move the attention off of you and back to me!"

Sherlock laughed and wagged his finger at Mycroft. "You poor insolent bastard, you've been dating that D.I for the past few months as well. Or maybe it's that lovely lady of yours...Anthea, is it?"

Mycroft, too infuriated to answer, turned to his mum. "Make him stop saying these things, I'm not dating anyone!"

"Boys, boys!" mummy laughed. "You're acting like you used to when you were kids. Grow up."

Sherlock stifled his laughter.

"Now, My, tell me about the D.I."

"There is no D.I!" he frantically yelled, fighting the urge to pull out his hair.

"There must be, or Sherlock wouldn't have mentioned him," mummy calmly said, refilling her cup.

"His name's Lestrade," Sherlock said, laughing even harder. "Oh, mum, you wouldn't **_believe_** the stuff I've found out—"

"Shut up!"

"Mycroft! Don't yell at your little brother. And the words 'shut up' are rude."

The elder Holmes almost pulled his hair out. "He's called me a bastard right in front of you and you think telling him to shut up is rude?!"

"Now now, someone's a little cranky today," mum said. "Busy day in the office, Mycroft?"

Mycroft groaned and flopped back down on the couch, his face in his hands, while mummy and Sherlock tittered on.

Oh, how they loved teasing Mycroft.

**:~*~:**

After a nice dinner, mum and Mycroft got ready to leave.

The Holmes mother managed to pull Sherlock into a secluded corner too look at him carefully. She softly patted his cheeks and ran a tired hand down his curls.

"It was nice seeing you, Sherlock," she said.

"It's always nice seeing you, mum. Do come more often."

"I will. I'll try, at least." She pulled a small package out of her purse. "This is for you. I wanted to wish you a happy belated birthday, Lockie. I'm so proud of you."

Sherlock took the package and kissed his mum on the head. "Thank you."

She nodded. "I don't think I'll be doing the traveling to see you much anymore. You should come to me."

Sherlock looked at her quizzically. "Why not?"

"The doctors, you know, they said I haven't got much time left."

Sherlock's heart dropped and he couldn't breathe anymore. His eyes raked over his mum's tired face and it was true; the illness has gotten the best of her.

Violet Holmes really didn't have that much time left.

"It's only been three years since your father has died. It'll be time for me to go too, soon. Not now, I hope. But soon."

"Don't say that, mum," Sherlock said, his voice tight with tears. "You've got time. Loads and loads of time. 50 more years. 60, even."

She laughed softly. "If only, Lockie."

The detective fought the urge to cry into his mother's arms. He clutched her gift in his hands and his body trembled.

"Mycroft will take good care of you. I know he will. Listen to him, alright?"

"Stop it mum, you're talking like you're already on your deathbed. I'll visit you thousands of time, there's no need to talk about this now."

She shook her head and continued. "I've got the will settled already the lawyers. I'm getting rid of that old Estate. I don't want its bad memories anymore."

"Mycroft knows?"

She shook her head again. "Not yet. I wanted to tell you first. It's not such a nice birthday gift, you know, me saying this to you. I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to live by yourself anymore, mum."

"I'm moving in with Mycroft tomorrow. Convinced him that that's what the doctors wanted."

He nodded.

"I'm going to visit you every weekend," he promised.

She wagged her finger and tsked. "Don't neglect your studies just for your poor old mother, Sherlock."

"You'll be okay," he said. "It's not advanced, as the doctors said. It's only stage 1."

She kissed her son one more time and smoothed his shirt down.

"You've grown into a wonderful young man, Sherlock," she said without answering his previous statement. "Your father would be proud of you."

"You think?"

"Of course. Oscar loved you."

"He did a wonderful job of showing it," scoffed Sherlock.

"He wasn't very affectionate, I know. But deep inside, he loved you both. He used to tell me all the hopes and dreams he had about his boys. 'My strong Holmes boys', is what he would call you. 'Just like their father they'll become, you just watch.' But you didn't. You aren't like him. You're different, Sherlock, and so is Mycroft. I'm proud of you both."

Sherlock sniffled. "Stop talking like that, mum."

"Okay. Well, I'm going to leave now. You take care of yourself, alright? Don't forget to give your old mum a call every so often," she said, picking up her coat and purse.

"I'll call you every day."

She blew him a kiss, pulled on her coat, and left.

It was too late when Sherlock noticed that he had forgotten her silk scarf. Or maybe she had left it on purpose.

He took it carefully in his arms and set it down on his nightstand, along with the small package she had given him. He didn't open it; he felt like he shouldn't.

Not now.

Not until it happened.

With a heavy heart, Sherlock pulled the covers up and fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

**I didn't mean for it to end up this way oh my god the words just flowed out  
**

**_What have I done to mummy Holmes_ **


	21. Chapter 21

The following weekend, Sherlock planned to spend Saturday evening with John and Harry. He wanted to forget all those depressing things his mum had told him. He hadn't talked to Mycroft about it since then, but he made sure to call his mother all the time and check up on her. Perhaps seeing Katie and John for a little bit will cheer him up.

Perhaps.

He hummed as he quickly walked up the stairs to John's flat, observing the light in the upstairs window.

 _John's here then,_ he thought. _No need to use my key._

He ringed the doorbell once; and then twice, and was about to reach for his own key before the door slowly clicked open.

Katie's little round face appeared and she smiled as she recognized Sherlock. She lifted her arms up and the detective picked her up and kissed her cheek.

"Hello, Katie," he said. "Did you open the door all by yourself?"

She nodded happily and clapped her hands.

"H'llo, Sh'lock. Climb."

Sherlock looked down to where she was pointing, and saw a small stack of books she had apparently used to climb up to reach the doorknob.

"That's smart. Make sure you don't fall, though."

Closing the door, he made his way into the living room with the small toddler on his hip. He set his things onto the floor and put Katie down. Letting a sigh of protest, she flung her hands on her hips and stomped away.

"Where are you going?" he asked, following her. "C'mon Katie, don't leave me alone. Where's John?"

"Jawn not here. Follow."

He followed her voice and entered a room slightly the same size as the room he and John slept in sometimes. Quickly glancing around, he calculated that a female probably stayed here. Carefully made bed, lavender colored curtains and bed-sheets, pink everywhere, makeup strewn over the table...He hadn't had the time to realize that this was the room that Harry stayed in before he heard a small yelp.

"Oh my God, Sherlock, you scared the living daylights out of me," Harry said, coming out of the walk in closet. "Thought you were a burglar or something."

Sherlock flushed and turned around. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were home. I apologize for seeing you in such an indecent manner."

Waving her hand at his comment, Harry picked up her makeup brush and started dabbing foundation on. "Don't be silly, Sherlock. You and your fancy frou-frou language. I'm not indecent, whatever made you think that?"

"Um," Sherlock started, feeling a bit embarrassed. "You're not dressed?"

Harry laughed and continued to apply makeup on. "Oh, is that all? I'm wearing a towel around my body, Sherlock. I just took a shower. Geesh. You should have seen me in uni. Used to change after tennis practice-"

"-Right in the auditorium," John finished for her. He smiled hello at Sherlock and came into the room with a freshly ironed dress. "Here you go, Harry."

"Thank you love," she said, taking the dress and standing up. She went to the bathroom and emerged a few minutes later wearing the yellow dress John had handed her. It looked quite nice on her, and Sherlock had told her so.

"You make me blush," she joked, swatting his hand as she walked past him.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock began to ask. "You're all dressed up."

"My graduation reunion is tonight," Harry said, glowing with happiness. "I'm so excited! I'll be seeing Eliza and Isabella and Jeniffer again! And Marcus and Joseph, Daniel and David and-"

"We get it, you'll be seeing a lot of people tonight," John laughed, preventing her from listing the 50 people she will be meeting again. "Are you ready?"

Running a hand through her hair and pouting her lips at the mirror, Harry looked back and John and nodded. "Yep. How do I look?"

John gave her the thumbs up and Sherlock nodded.

"Well, approval from Sherlock Holmes and John Watson isn't all I need. Where's my little sweetheart?"

A muffled sound of glee erupted from somewhere in the room and Katie crawled out from under the bedsheets.

"Hi mum!"

"You've been here all along? You little trickster." Harry turned towards her daughter. "How does mummy look, honey?"

Katie cocked her head and hummed for a while. Looking over her mother with strict and criticizing eyes, she finally gave a small sound of approval and smiled. "Mummy good."

"Fantastic!"

She turned toward her brother and extended her palm. "Keys, please."

Rolling his eyes, John reluctantly placed the keys in her hand. "Be safe, Harry. Be careful with my car, don't wreck it like you did in uni."

She nodded and clutched the keys like she was a teenager being allowed to drive for the first time.

"Look both ways. Be mindful of the signs. Please please _please_ watch the traffic light! And don't drink if you're going to drive afterwards, remember you have a daughter to come home too."

"Yes, mum," she said, rolling her eyes as well. When John finished his little speech, she slipped her shoes on and wrapped her coat and scarf around herself.

Harry blew a kiss towards the three of them and went out, the door clicking softly behind her. After a few seconds, the sound of an engine was heard and soon, she pulled out of the driveway.

And then she was gone.

It was silent for a few minutes in the flat. Sherlock looked at John, and John looked at Katie, and Katie looked at Sherlock and John.

Three minutes tick by.

"...So."

John raised an eyebrow, but still thankful Sherlock had broken the ice.

"What are we going to do?"

He shrugged but kept his eyes on Katie.

Frowning, Sherlock asked, "Why are you staring at her like that?"

The teacher sighed, thinking of a way to tell Sherlock without Katie knowing. "Katie est très sournois. Elle agit très pointilleux quand sa maman n'est pas là." ( _Katie is very sneaky. She acts very finicky when her mother isn't here._ )

Finally understanding, Sherlock laughed and looked at the toddler as well. He wasn't sure about the situation, knowing that she could stand up at any moment and run around the flat, doing what she wanted, now that Harry was gone.

"C'est drôle," Sherlock said, chuckling. "Elle agit de manière diligente quand Harry est ici." ( _That's funny, she acts very diligent when Harry's here._ )

John only laughed and shook his head. After observing the toddler for a bit, he finally decided the carefully approach her.

"Katie?"

She looked up from her position on the living room couch. Throughout these few minutes, she had been uninterested in the conversation going on between Sherlock and John.

"Hmm?"

"Mummy's gone, Katie," he continued to say in his soft and gentle voice.

Sherlock marveled at his patience and gentleness with children. He watched as John assessed the situation and how he should approach the little girl.

"Yep."

"So, what do we do when mummy's gone for a while?"

Katie scrunched her face up in thought. She hummed for a while and then smiled. "Quiet. Nice."

"That's right," John praised. "We are quiet and nice. Do we run around and make noise?"

She shook her head.

"Do we climb on top of the refrigerator and eat all the cereal and then get a tummy ache later on?"

"No."

"We don't fill up the bath with bubbles and soap and flood the bathroom either, now do we?"

"Nope."

John slowly nodded. "Okay. That's good, Katie, you remembered. We do _not_ make trouble when mummy's not here."

Katie smiled. "Yes. Make trouble."

"No, that's the thing we don't do," John shook his head. "We do not cause trouble."

Katie nodded again. "Yes. Trouble."

The teacher sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He turned to Sherlock and looked at him with pleading eyes. "Sherlock, would you mind watching her for a bit?"

Sherlock almost panicked before John had to reassure him.

"Only for a bit, I need to make dinner. Then she'll have her bath and go to sleep. We'll be peaceful then."

"Yes. Peace." Katie looked up, clapping to herself as she said those words.

"That's right, Katie." John walked to the kitchen and left Sherlock alone with her. "I won't be too long, Sherlock. Is spaghetti okay for you?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

He was left alone with the little girl once more. This time, Katie looked up and smiled at Sherlock.

"Hi, Sh'lock."

"Hello. What are you doing?"

He sat down next to her and looked at what she held between her hands; a piece of paper and a few crayons.

"Draw'n."

"Oh." Sherlock paused. "Dull."

Katie, not understanding, sat back down and started doodling again.

"I take art at school, you know," Sherlock began.

That sparked Katie's attention and she looked up. "Art?"

"Yeah, art. I like science much better though. Do you still remember what I taught you last week?"

Katie smiled again and nodded. "Yes. Nit'gen, ox'gen, car'bn, hyd'gen."

Sherlock praised her. "Very good! That was excellent, Katie. What do they teach you in science at school? Can you remember?"

"Trees. Sun."

"That's it? How dull. At your age I already knew how to calculate the atomic mass of most-"

"That's because you're a genius, Sherlock," John answered, his voice coming from the kitchen. He laughed and appeared in the doorway. "Food's ready."

Sherlock brought Katie to the bathroom and they washed their hands, then walked together to the kitchen, where John had set up plates of spaghetti bolognese for each of them. He grabbed a few cushions and set them up so that Katie could eat at the table properly, since she had refused a high chair.

They sat down and began eating. The room was filled with the clicking of knives and forks and it was peaceful. The food was great, Sherlock ate his entire plate, and Katie scarfed down her food without complaining.

"Tastes good," Sherlock complimented. "You're a good cook."

John smiled. "Am I? I was just hoping for something that was edible; but thank you." He turned to Katie. "Katie, have you had enough, or would you like more?"

"No. Play."

"Play? What do you want to do?"

She climbed down from her chair and ran to her room, where she emerged a few minutes later with a bunch of puzzles and board games.

And that's what Sherlock, John, and Katie did for most of the evening. They played puzzles until their eyes got blurry, they played board games until Sherlock had managed to win Monopoly, and they drew and colored, and Katie smeared lipstick and makeup all over Sherlock's face.

They played dress up, and keeping house, and 'going to the ball'.

Sherlock's favorite had to be dress up. He had laughed so hard when Katie had put makeup all over John's face. He looked a mess, with eyeshadow on his cheeks and lipstick on his eyebrows, but Katie had thought he looked perfect, and she had put her princess crown on his mess of blonde hair. When Sherlock's turn had come, John watched with delight as his partner's beautiful marble face slowly became a jumble of red, blue, and pink.

They took a long time scrubbing the makeup out later on; apparently, Harry's favorite type of makeup was all waterproof. They would have to bear the marks of Katie's makeup skills on their face for a long time, until they could get their hands on some makeup remover.

It was not until after a long time that Katie had begun to feel sleepy. She yawned a few times and tugged on John's sleeves.

"Sleep."

Understanding, John picked her up and started walking towards the bathroom.

"I'll wash up the plates," Sherlock offered, standing up as well and following John.

"Oh, you don't have to do that-"

"That's okay! You can bathe her and put her to sleep, and I'll finish with the kitchen."

John thanked him and brought Katie to the bathroom, where he quickly bathed her as Sherlock finished the dishes. By the time they were both done, Katie was almost falling asleep in John's arms.

They brought her to Harry's room and laid her down on the bed.

"How does she sleep?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, does she like having someone sing her lullabies or something?"

John thought about that. "Maybe so. Harry sings her songs sometimes. Hey, Katie, would you like-"

They looked down and saw that in the midst of their conversation, she had fallen asleep. Satisfied, John tucked her in under the blankets and shut the lights off.

 _Finally_ , for the first time this evening, they were alone. They both breathed out a sigh of relief and headed for John's bedroom.

"She's actually well behaved," Sherlock remarked.

"Ha, _no_ , that's probably because you're here. Don't worry, she'll get used to you and once we're left alone with her again she'll act out."

Yawning, Sherlock flopped onto the bed and pulled the covers up.

"Aren't you going to take a shower and change into your pajamas?"

"Hmm. Too tired. Let me just close my eyes _one_ second."

John shrugged and got into bed with Sherlock. They did their usual kisses and cuddles before they both slipped into a deep slumber. It was only 15 minutes after they had both fallen asleep that Sherlock's phone buzzed with a new message.

**Dinner tomorrow? Important. -Irene**

* * *

**Wow I feel like I haven't updated in forever! Hoped you guys liked this filler chapter! Please leave some reviews! I hope you guys aren't getting bored with this or anything lol**

**Tell me what you thought about this chapter!**

**-Lissa**


	22. Chapter 22

A small ray of sunshine peeked through the deep velvet curtains that hung in John's windows. The sky outside was relatively grey and cloudy, yet a small ray of the sun's warmth and light had managed to sneak into their bedroom. The soft chirping of birds and the amount of light outside indicated that it was only seven AM in the morning, and everyone was still sleeping.

Well, almost everyone.

Sherlock opened one eye cautiously and hissed at the burning rays of light. He closed his eyes back and pulled the covers over his head. It took a few minutes before his eyes adjusted to the light in the bedroom. He yawned, turned around and slung his hands over John's warm body. The teacher was still fast asleep, his chest heaving with every slow breath he took.

Sherlock snuggled back into John's arms and sighed happily. He wanted to do nothing more than to just close his eyes and go back to sleep. John was warm and comfortable and he wouldn't be waking up for another hour or two, seeing as it was Sunday morning and the teacher liked to sleep in on Sundays.

The detective listened attentively for any sounds coming from outside the bedroom. There was nothing to be heard, except the soft snores and sounds Harry makes when she slept.

She had arrived home at 2 A.M that morning and had gone to sleep after checking up on Katie. Harry managed to spend one evening out without crashing the car or stumbling home drunk, and Sherlock knew John would be happy to hear that.

The need to drink some tea was too strong for Sherlock and he tumbled out of bed, pulled on one of John's sweaters and headed for the kitchen. He walked stealthily on the tips of his toes and tried not to make a sound, knowing that Harry certainly wasn't a morning person and he'd really hate to piss her off early in the morning.

He still wasn't fully awake and he nodded off a few times as he waited for the kettle to boil. He tried to make his tea as quietly as he could, moving silently and quickly, yet jumping out of his skin when the kettle screeched.

John then walked into the kitchen, startling the sluggish detective a little. "Fine day, Sundays," he said as he greeted his partner.

Sherlock jumped at his voice and almost dropped his teacup.

"Have I startled you?" John asked as he reached for a cup from the cabinet. He smiled as Sherlock pouted and folded his arms.

"No. I just wasn't expecting you to wake up so early."

"Well, you're not being so quiet. But it doesn't matter; I was going to wake up sooner or later anyway."

"You were sleeping like a log," Sherlock commented, stirring his cup of tea. When John offered him some sugar, he looked blankly at him and shook his head as if to say ' _you know me by now, John._ '

"Taking care of Katie always knocks me out. She has way too much energy for a toddler."

"Tell me about it. I still can't get that dammed pink lipstick off and I've tried everything."

John laughed and sat down at the kitchen table. "Try some of Harry's makeup remover, it works wonders. She has some hidden away in the top drawer of the bathroom cabinet."

When Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that, John scoffed. "Not that I try on any of her makeup."

"Whatever you say, John," Sherlock playfully said as he raised his hands in defeat.

"I don't wear makeup, Sherlock," John desperately tried to defend himself. He only blushed harder as Sherlock laughed on.

"Who wears makeup?"

The two men looked towards the door as Harry walked in, joining in their conversation.

"John does."

"I do **not**!"

"Oh Sherlock, that's nothing. You won't _believe_ the stuff John has done in high school—"

" _Shut up_ Harry!" John hissed through clenched teeth as his face grew redder.

"Oh no, do go on, please," Sherlock urged.

"Well," she started, taking the kettle and pouring herself a cup of tea for herself. "For starters, once, he came to school dressed in his pajamas because—"

" _Dammit_ ," John whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose and sitting down. There was no stopping Harry now.

"—because one of his mates got him to believe that it was Pajama Day."

Sherlock started laughing. "Pajama Day? What on earth is that?"

"Bloody hell if I know! Whatever it was, it was hilarious seeing him parade around school in nothing but a shirt and those flimsy pants he wears to sleep. He was absolutely confused and embarrassed when he realized he was the only one dressed like that, having expected to see everyone wearing their pajamas that day." Harry laughed as she continued to tell the story, her laughs fueled by the look on her brother's face.

Sherlock desperately tried to stifle his laughter but failed miserably. "I'm so sorry John—I can't help but laugh! Did you really go to school in your pajamas?"

"Shut up, one of my friends got me to believe it was Pajama Day, okay?"

"Oh, that's nothing, trust me. There was the ballet recital in elementary school and that one time when he dressed up as a fairy in nursery school—"

"Wait a second—a **_ballet_** recital?!"

"John was a flamboyant little boy when he was young, Sherlock."

When Sherlock's laughs got louder, John stood up. "I am not going to stand here and be humiliated by your little tales, Harry," he declared, still red in the face. He then lifted his head high, as if clinging to the last of his dignity, and walked out of the kitchen.

"Wait, no, John!" Sherlock tried running after the teacher, laughter still bursting from his lips. "Come back, Harry was just kidding around!"

"I am done with being demeaned by you two. I am going to take a shower."

Sherlock put one hand on the wall and kept laughing, his torso bent forward as deep roars of laughter erupted from his throat. He hadn't laughed like that in a long time.

"Bloody hell John, a **ballet** recital?"

"It was in **nursery** school!" John bellowed from the closed bathroom door. The sound of water being turned on was heard throughout the flat and Harry walked up to the door and pressed her lips to it.

"Now now John, we all know there was that _one_ time in primary school—,"

John turned on the high setting on the shower and the water rushed out, drowning out whatever Harry was saying next.

She turned to Sherlock and they laughed together, walking back towards the kitchen to make some breakfast and talk more about what a flamboyant and ostentatious little boy John was when he was younger.

As Harry blabbed on about her brother and the silly things he had done as a child, Sherlock safely tucked away every single thing Harry had revealed in his _John Folder_ , which was located deep inside his Mind Palace.

He was never going to let John hear the last of this.

***^*^**^*^***

It was only when Sherlock was back in his dorm room that afternoon that he noticed a message on his cellphone. The name 'Irene' flashed on the screen and he picked the device up, his eyes quickly running through the contents of the message. She had apparently sent this message last night.

**Dinner tomorrow? Important. –Irene**

Sherlock frowned. Irene wouldn't invite him to dinner unless it was something of the matter. He perked up. Maybe she had some new leads on where Jeremy was and what he was doing now?

He thought it over quickly and typed back a message.

**6 P.M. –SH**

Not even a minute later, a new message popped up on his phone.

**I'll send someone over to pick you up. I mean a real dinner tonight, Sherlock. None of your picky eating. –Irene**

**Fine. I'll be there. –SH**

And with that Sherlock arranged another dinner date with the dangerous and quite intelligent Irene. He didn't tell John; John would worry too much. He wrote a quick note, telling the reader of is whereabouts and left it on his bedside table in case he didn't return.

Sherlock shivered. Everything about Irene screamed 'dangerous', and he loved it.

He loved danger.

And that was what got him into deep trouble most of the time.

* * *

By the time Sherlock had arrived at the meeting place, Irene had just about arrived. She was dressed up as fancy as ever, except her hair was let down instead of being secured tightly into a low bun as usual. He remarked that as soon as he sat down across from her.

"Your hair looks lovely."

She smirked. "Are you saying my hair doesn't look lovely every day, Mr. Holmes? Or is it _just_ my hair that's lovely?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You know what I meant."

She didn't answer and continued to smile at him. "If you don't mind, I have already ordered our dinner. I originally intended to order the lobster special but since I'm in the company of someone who's allergic to seafood, I chose to order the veal and ravioli. Is it acceptable for you?"

Playing the same game, Sherlock chose not to answer that question. Instead, he asked, "How did you know about my allergies?"

"I know everything about you, Sherlock."

"Is that so?"

She winked.

"How's the new girlfriend going? Molly, I presume?"

Without missing a heartbeat, Irene smiled. "She's wonderful. Very keen to learn new things, too."

"And you're not going to ask me how I knew her name?"

"You've probably seen her working at that bakery shop you and your teacher like to frequent."

Sherlock smirked and moved the subject off of him and John back to Molly. "I would advise you use cuffs instead of rope. Heals faster and doesn't bruise so much."

Irene seemed to roll the idea in her head for a while. "You're right. Must put that on my shopping list, then."

Sherlock couldn't hide the oncoming smile.

This was the second person he was most comfortable with; she played the same mind games as him. They spoke in the same language, and no, not in terms of English. They shared a similar thinking pattern and Sherlock thrived on that.

"So," he started to say, as the waiters brought their food to the table. "May I please know why I have the pleasure of having dinner with you this fine evening?"

Irene took a small sip of her wine before she picked up her fork and knife. She took her time; daintily cutting her food into delectable sizes and making Sherlock wait for the answer.

"We both know who this is about," she began to say as she chewed thoroughly. She mentioned Sherlock do the same and he impatiently picked up his fork and stuck a piece of ravioli in his mouth.

"Of course. Go on."

"Jeremy's scared, Sherlock."

With that, Sherlock rolled his eyes and took a huge gulp of wine. "Why should _I_ care?"

"You know very well that when people are scared, they make rash decisions. Jeremy has made one a few days ago. It has to do with you."

"Of course it has to do with me. I'm the reason he ran away in the first place."

Irene tsked, as if reprimanding Sherlock for his rude behavior and continued eating. "As you may already know, he's known for making rash decisions. He has hired someone."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, not understanding.

"Sherlock, you're not safe. Not anymore. He has hired someone to shut you up."

"Shut _me_ up?"

"Word gets out, you know. He's heard that you've been talking about what happened a while ago."

"I haven't told anyone! Bloody hell Irene, I haven't even told my own mother!"

She nodded. "I understand, Sherlock. But...the man he has hired, to, you know..."

"Kill me?"

"I didn't say that. All I'm saying is that I fear for your safety, Sherlock. I really do."

"So you care about my well-being then?" Sherlock smiled at Irene and continued eating.

She rolled her eyes at his comment and sighed. "Of course I do."

"Tell me about the person he hired. What for? Is he scared for his own safety?"

"He's gone absolutely bat crazy. You need to come to your wits, tell the police and get it over with if you ask me, Sherlock."

"I've told Mycroft. And John knows. But not mum."

"Has Mycroft threatened him in any way?"

"He has threatened to send out his snipers and have his neck wrung in less than a day. But I told him that it would be unnecessary. Was I right to say so?"

"That's up to you to decide. But the reason I've called you here is because I have an offer for you."

Sherlock's ears perked up. "An offer?"

"But of course, I can't tell you of this offer without revealing something about myself as well."

A tense minute passes. Two, then three, and finally, Sherlock nods. "Go ahead."

"Mycroft has appointed me to watch out for you. Since the first day of uni until now, I've been following your every move. Well, not in a stalker type of way, but you know what I mean. He's not paying me or anything. I genuinely care for you and your well-being, Sherlock."

The detective stood still and thought about this. Outside he looked calm and collected, but underneath that marble white skin, fire raged in his head.

 _Stupid stupid stupid!_ How could he have not noticed this before? Everything fit in the blanks now! Everything matches up, and he was too stupid to see that it was going on under his own nose!

_Stupid!_

"I see," was all he managed to say.

"Good. I'm not trying to replace your mother, okay? I'm not your mother figure either. I'm just a friend."

"I don't have **friends** ," he retorted, his face breaking out into a sneer.

"Of course you do," Irene reassured him. "There's me. And Harry, and Katie. And your teacher, John."

"That's only four people. Hardly counts as friends, if you ask me. And there's no need to count John as a friend, he's more than that."

"They still count as friends, Sherlock. By the way, I meant to ask you; how are things going with John?"

Sherlock flushed and stuffed his mouth with food to avoid the question. When Irene patiently waited for his response, he was forced to answer. "Fine."

"Fine? That's it? Are you officially boyfriends or lovers or what?"

"We're just...us. Sherlock and John. There's no need to put a label on it."

Irene chuckled. "Whatever you say, sweet-cheeks."

They continued to eat in silence until Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. Curiosity was gnawing at him, and he wanted to know more about Irene's 'offer' and the man Jeremy has hired to...wipe him out.

"Tell me about that offer, Irene," he insisted.

Irene pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face and smiled her signature grin. "It could be dangerous, you know."

"The more danger, the better."

"Danger seeking...I like that."

Sherlock moved forward, desperately wanting more information. "Go on, please. I want to know," he urged her.

"Alright. What do you want to know, for starters?"

"Who's following me?" Sherlock asked without skipping a beat.

Irene hummed. "He's a man. About your height, although I would say a tad bit shorter. Black hair, soft Scottish accent...fine features, if I say so myself."

Sherlock slammed his fists onto the table. "His name, Irene, I want his **name**!"

Irene's sly grin slowly disappeared from her face and her features turned a little pale. With her eyes set downcast, she chewed her lips and wondered if telling Sherlock about _**him** _ was the best hing.

Over and over she had said his name before; out loud and in her own head, but she could never get rid of the horrible sensation she gets when she utters his name out loud.

She finally took a deep breath and looked up to meet Sherlock's pale blue eyes.

"Jim. Jim Moriarty."

* * *

**Hope you guys enjoyed this update! Review please! And as always, thank you!**

**-Lissa**


	23. Chapter 23

Sherlock sat back in his chair and formed a steeple with his hands. He rolled the name over and over in his head, almost as if chanting it. _Jim Moriarty_ …now _where_ had he heard that name before?

"Interesting," he drawled out, finally looking up. "I hope his personality is as interesting as his name."

Irene looked baffled. "I just tell you the name of the person who wants to...eliminate you and you wonder whether he has a good _personality_?!"

"Well of course. There is nothing more annoying than a boring and insipid person, my dear Irene. You know that."

She just shook her head without answering and pushed her plate forward, done with her meal. She waited for Sherlock's questions to roll in.

"So do you know this Jim Moriarty?"

"Of course I do. Terrible man, if I say so myself. I went to elementary school with him."

Sherlock scoffed. " _Elementary school,_ Irene? That was ages ago! Surely he must have changed!"

"He didn't change in the least. He used to pull my hair and always trip me when I walked down the hallways, you know."

"I'm sure he has changed pastimes and doesn't pull 8 year old girls' ponytails anymore, Irene. Tell me more about him."

She sighed. "I'm afraid I don't know much about him anymore, Sherlock. Don't go around trying to pry your nose in and try to figure him out, either."

"I won't."

"Sure you won't. Anyway, are you ready to hear about my little offer?"

"How many 'little offers' do you have for me?"

"Quite a lot," Irene answered truthfully, smiling up at the young man. "But this one is important."

"Go ahead."

"...Mycroft and I had talked over the weekend, and—"

Sherlock groaned loudly. "Nothing good comes out of the conversations Mycroft has with you."

Irene ignored him. "He wants you to move out of the dorms."

"Whatever for?" Sherlock asked without missing a beat.

"Don't question your brother's actions; you know they rarely make sense anymore, Sherlock."

"So he wants me to drop out of uni and move out? Where would I go? Where would I live?"

"He doesn't want you to drop out. Of course, you'll still be going to uni and attending your classes, although you might not be going to school every day, and you will have to take up a hobby to occupy you during the days where you don't go to uni."

"Go on,"

"Right." Irene took a sip of her wine. "Your living arrangements will be taken care of. Mycroft has found a large estate he wouldn't mind giving to you—"

"No. I'm not living in an estate."

"Fine, then. A mansion? A nice house, maybe?"

"No, a small flat will do."

Irene wrinkled her nose at the suggestion. "A _flat_? A small dingy flat is where you want to _live_?"

"Quite so."

Irene shook her head and took another deep breath. "Mycroft has contacted a D.I that will be more than happy to train you and develop your detective skills further—"

"My detective skills need no further training."

"—Detective Gregory Lestrade has agreed to fortify your remarkable detective abilities and talents," Irene continued, ignoring Sherlock's previous comment. "I hear he's a fine man."

Sherlock snorted. "Yeah, and he's also Mycroft's boyfriend."

The Woman smirked and started laughing like a little schoolgirl, her strong façade now gone and her mind focused on what Sherlock had just revealed about Mycroft and the D.I. " **Really?!** "

"Mycroft sometimes comes over with his cheeks completely red and scrapped; probably due to some rough kissing. He also talks about him a lot. Oh, and the password to his phone is 'Gregory'," Sherlock sneered. "How pathetic."

"Oh shush, you're in love too, Sherlock. It's what people do when they're in love."

"Dull."

Irene rolled her eyes and returned to speaking to Sherlock about the offer.

"If you say yes, your things will be taken care of and moved to the new location immediately. You will be allowed to drop art and drama from your classes and take new things such as forensics and even psychology, if you like."

"Thank god, that art class was absolutely dreadful."

"Sherlock, stop interrupting. Listen to me; this isn't an easy decision to make."

"Of course it is. I say yes."

Irene's eyebrows raised and she looked surprise. "Yes? You don't want to think about it? I'll give you a week or two to roll the idea around in your head a bit."

"No need. When can I move?"

"Sherlock, you need to think about this...you need to think about John."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. Just now he remembered that he wasn't alone anymore, and that there was John.

Wonderful, _wonderful_ John.

And he couldn't possibly just pick up his things and leave John behind, now could he? Only now he was fully absorbing the hard decision Irene and Mycroft expected him to make. He didn't think it through when Irene was explaining things, too lost in the euphoria of being able to move out of that dreadful dormitory room and into a nice cozy flat.

"Oh," he mumbled.

There was a small awkward silence.

"Well, I definitely don't have to think about that. My answer is yes; I'll take the offer, and I'll take John with me."

"You can't just pick up John and move him to wherever you want him to be. He's a full grown adult and quite capable of making his own decisions. He might not want to go with you."

"But I'd be lost without John!" Sherlock yelled out of frustration, his hands balling into fists. It was only after he had said that that he realized the heaviness of what he had just revealed.

"You need to talk to him about it, Sherlock. I'll give you two weeks, more or less. Sound good?"

"...Yeah."

Irene smiled and snapped her fingers twice, and seemingly out of nowhere (again), appeared a man dressed in a smart back suit and tinted sunglasses. He glanced at Sherlock, and back at Irene, before finally nodding.

"Goodbye, Sherlock. Text me when you have your answer," Irene winked at him and the man turned to Sherlock.

Without thinking twice, the young detective stood up and followed the man out. He got into the car and the man started to drive away, heading for the direction of the university.

Sherlock had a lot to think about tonight.

* * *

Upon arriving home, Sherlock decided he should call John right away and tell him of Irene's offer. It was only right that John was aware of what was going on (and what was about to happen). Sherlock had never talked to John about Irene and what he was about to reveal to him might be a little too much to take at once.

Sherlock knew John was the time of person to think things through. He had never seen the teacher make rash decisions, but maybe now was the time to make one.

But how _wonderful_ would that be? How marvelous was the idea of moving out and starting anew in an entire different part of London?

University was boring him to death, quite frankly. Maybe a change of scenery is just what he needs. He'll be closer to Mycroft and mummy too, so he wouldn't have to drive out for hours only to visit mum over the weekends.

And the idea of living with John was more than amazing. Sherlock wouldn't have to go to uni everyday, so there would be no sneaking around at school with John anymore and the fear of being caught with the teacher would now be gone. They would live together and John would protect Sherlock and stay with him all the time and they would be more of a family.

And Sherlock would do all the experiments he wants to do and John would teach him more about chemistry instead of biology, and the D.I - Lestrade, will teach Sherlock more about detective work.

And maybe, just **maybe** , Sherlock will find a job in the detective precinct, too.

Oh, this was absolutely _perfect_. Now he only needed John to say yes.

He snapped out of his daydream and reached for his phone, dialing John's cellphone number and letting it ring three times before John's familiar voice answered.

"Sherlock?"

"John."

"Are you okay? It's kinda late and you never call me at this time unless there's something wrong. Is it that you can't fall asleep?"

"You know I don't like to sleep, John."

"Yeah well you seem to sleep pretty fine when you're sleeping over here. You should come over if you really can't sleep, okay? Harry's here too. Oh, and so is Katie. She misses you by the way."

Sherlock couldn't help the small smile that formed on his lips as John said that.

"No, really, it's okay. We just need to talk."

There was silence on the other side of the phone. It seemed as if John had gotten up and walked out of the room, and judging from the silence and slightly fuzzy reception, the teacher was probably outside.

"John?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Would you like to talk in person or is this something that can be talked about over the phone?"

Sherlock didn't answer and left John to wonder about that last question.

"Sherlock, are you breaking up with me?"

"What? Bloody hell John, no!"

John exhaled a deep breath that he didn't know he was holding and sighed into the phone. "Had me scared for a minute you know,"

Sherlock was still taken aback with John's previous question and exhaled noisily. "I would never break up with you like that, John. You know I care too much about you to do that. You know that."

John chuckled. Never had Sherlock uttered the three words that meant a lot, those three simple words; 'I love you'...and John didn't expect him to say it. It wasn't so simple to say. And John could see that Sherlock _did_ love him, in the everyday actions and in the things he did for John.

"I care a lot about you too."

"Really, I want you to believe that, okay? Never suspect for a second that I don't cherish your affection and company every single day, alright?"

John took a small intake of breath and smiled. "Same goes for me, Sherlock."

"We need to talk about an offer my brother and his little 'puppet' are offering me...or rather, us."

"What do you mean his puppet?"

"This isn't something that we can talk about over the phone. I'd rather we talk in person, so I can explain things better."

A sigh is heard from the other end of the phone. "Sherlock, it's almost 11 P.M. Can this wait till tomorrow?"

"No."

"Fine. I'll be over in 5 minutes top, alright? It better be bloody good this time, Sherlock. Last time I was 'invited' over to your dorm at 11 at night it was because you set the bloody oven on fire."

"It was an experiment, John! For _science_!"

"Just don't do anything involving matches and gasoline, alright? I'm coming."

Sherlock pouted but ended the call anyway.

The experiment will have to wait for another day then, and now was the time to seriously talk with John.

Maybe this small decisions will change the lives they want to lead together forever.

Who knows?

* * *

**HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Hope you liked this chapter!**

**Please review! Thank you (as always) my loves!**

**-Lissa**


	24. Chapter 24

A few minutes later, a sharp knock on the door indicated that John had arrived. Sherlock didn't even have to look through the peephole on the door to know it was John; he could recognize John's knock anywhere; it consisted of two small knocks and a longer one. He jumped from his position on the couch and headed over to open the door.

When he unlocked it, John's warm face stared back at him. The teacher greeted him with his trademark smile and a chaste kiss, before entering the warm room and removing the numerous bundles of sweaters and coats he had pulled on.

"Cuppa tea?" Sherlock offered him, already knowing the answer and walking towards the kitchen.

John didn't answer, also knowing that Sherlock knew the answer to his previous question. John would never refuse a good cup of tea. He might as well drink 500 cups of steaming hot tea and he wouldn't decline the offer or another one.

"You drink a lot of tea you know," Sherlock remarked from the kitchen, his voice raised as he competed with the sound of the kettle. "Your blood probably consists of 99% hot tea."

"Tea never harmed anyone. Plus, it's bloody cold outside. Make one for yourself too; I wouldn't want you to freeze to death."

"I'll assure you that no one has ever died from not drinking enough tea on a cold night, John."

"Better not take any chances."

Sherlock playfully rolled his eyes and joined John in the sitting room. They sat on the couch, mingling their legs and feet as they faced one another. Sherlock's long and lanky feet took most of the space, but John didn't mind. This was their customary position on Sherlock's couch whenever John came around, and it was comfortable.

They sipped their tea in silence and Sherlock watched John patiently blow cool air on his cup, cooling the beverage before he took a tentative sip.

"Mmm. Just the way I like it," John smiled. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. I've taken many notes over the months and I've come to the conclusion that you like your tea very precise. It's far too sweet for my taste, but if that's the way you like it, then that's the way I'll make it."

"How charitable of you," John joked. "I couldn't possibly drink tea the way you drink yours, anyway. It's plain and dark and there's no sugar or milk and—"

"You know I don't like sweet things, John."

"Yet you managed to finish Katie's entire box of Malteasers with no trouble."

Sherlock pouted and prodded John's calf with his toes. "That's not my fault, you know I can't resist those, and you buy them in bulk every time you go grocery shopping."

"I kept them hidden," John smiled. "Well, technically, Katie kept them hidden. She has an entire stash of candy under the second drawer in the pantry. We should raid it one day, I'm pretty sure she has a packet or two of tea in there too."

Sherlock couldn't help but grin at John. "As long as there are Malteasers involved, you know I'd help you raid the pantry if I get to keep some for myself. How's Katie doing, by the way? Getting ready to go back home?"

"Harry bought the tickets yesterday. They're due for another appointment with specialist in a few months' time, but for the moment they have to go back home and wait it out. The results are due soon."

"Don't worry John, she'll be okay. You know that."

John smiled faintly. "Yeah, I know that. It's Harry I'm concerned for. She worries about Katie every single day and it's taking over her life, you know? But she's doing fine. She's been improving her sentences and using verbs more often. If it goes on like this, she'll enter nursery school at the same time as the other kids, and she'll feel more normal."

Sherlock nodded. "I'll stop by to say goodbye before they leave."

John sipped his tea and they fell once again in silence. The only audible things where the sounds John made when he swirled his spoon in the tea he drank, and the slow tapping of Sherlock's fingers against his cellphone.

"So."

Sherlock looked up.

"You mind telling me why I was invited here at 11 P.M? On a Sunday night too, Sherlock. You know you have school tomorrow," John said, his teacher-voice taking over.

"I know. But we have to talk about this. It's important and I don't want to make the decision by myself."

John's face softened. "You want _me_ to help you make an important decision?"

Sherlock scoffed and reached over to thumb his fingers over John's pullover. "Of course I am, you nitwit. I'm not making any important decisions without you, and anyway, I'd be lost without your guidance." Sherlock paused. "You know that I…you know. _That_."

"That what?"

Sherlock turned away before John could catch the slow flush of color rising up his cheeks. "Don't make me say this out loud, John Watson."

John rolled his eyes. "So much for being romantic, you idiot. I love you too."

Sherlock released a sigh of relief he didn't even know he was holding. He rested John's cup on the floor and reached over to press his head across John's chest.

"Were you afraid I was going to reject your declaration of undying passion and love for me?" John joked.

Sherlock, who was still blushing and was too embarrassed to look up, swatted at John's hands and mumbled into his sweater. "Shut up."

"Can't shut up now, the one and only Sherlock Holmes has declared his adoration for me."

"This isn't what normal couples do," Sherlock protested, his words still muffled by John's sweater. "They're supposed to kiss and cry and stuff like that."

"We're not a normal couple and you know that," John said as he ran his hands in Sherlock's thick curls. "But if you want me to kiss you, then I shall."

He pulled Sherlock's face up (which was, by the way, still a lovely shade of pink) and nuzzled it close to his own. That's what they did sometimes; just slow soft cuddles. 'Eskimo kisses' is what John likes to call them. This usually preceded a rough session of kissing which left the both of them panting and breathless, but they didn't have time for that today. _Perhaps later,_ Sherlock thought in his head gleefully. _But first we need to talk._

He pulled himself up reluctantly and looked at his partner deep in the eyes. Sherlock could never appreciate John's eyes enough. Two grey pools of grey and blue, they sometimes shone brightly in the sunlight or dimmed into a light hazelnut color at night. Sherlock marveled with wonder every time John's eyes would become a dark coffee-like color whenever they had their feverish kissing sessions; his pupils would dilate to the point where only a small ring of blue-grey was visible.

He placed a kiss on John's lips and savored the aftertaste of the sugary tea he had been drinking. He knew what he was going to have to talk to John about was a heavy subject, and to be truthful, Sherlock was scared.

Scared that John would want to leave him, scared that he would find someone better than Sherlock, scared that everything would return to the way it was before John had arrived into his life.

He didn't want things to be the way they were before.

John looked into Sherlock's eyes. "Sherlock, speak to me."

"I will, if you promise you won't leave me once I explain this to you."

John patted Sherlock's cheeks tenderly and sighed. "You need to get over the fear of me leaving you. I won't, not unless you want me to. I'd have to be dragged by force, anyway. Okay?"

Sherlock couldn't hide his smile. "Okay."

"Now tell me."

And Sherlock did. He told him everything, starting by telling John about the dinners with Irene (John wasn't mad about them, anyway) and ending with talking about Moriarty and Mycroft's offer. Overall it took Sherlock about 15 minutes to explain everything, and 10 minutes for John to absorb every single word that the detective had uttered.

Sherlock took a big breath and ended with: "—and that's why Mycroft wants me to move."

There was an excruciatingly long silence as John absorbed the whole thing.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"You're still following, right?"

"Well, yes. I'm just till processing things. This Moriarty guy—do you know anything about him?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Irene wouldn't say, either. I looked him up on the internet and nothing came up. He must have some pretty good people if there are no traces of him on the internet."

"Seems dangerous to me," John muttered.

"I know! Isn't it fascinating?!"

"Sherlock, you would find a dead _cow_ fascinating.

"Of course I would; who wouldn't? Don't you want to know how the cow died and from what and who killed it and—"

"—sticking to the idea of the conversation in the first place," John interrupted gently, "When does Mycroft want his answer?"

"One week, two max."

"That's a long time, so there's no rush. You need to think about this."

Sherlock groaned and flopped on his side. "I knew you would say that. I already thought about this!"

"Did you?"

"Yes!"

"So what's your answer?" John asked, sitting up and pushing his feet down.

"Move out of the dorm, of course. Mycroft has found a flat, furnished and everything. The rent is reasonable, and it's quite safe, seeing as it's owned by a nice old lady."

"Isn't that right?"

"Yep. One living room, kitchen, a nice space to set up for experiments, two bedrooms—although we'd only be needing one—and"

" **Woah** —wait. What?"

Sherlock stopped talking and looked at his partner. "What?"

"What did you say?"

The detective frowned. "I said one living room, kitchen, empty space and two bedrooms. Do keep up, John."

"Yes I got that, but—"

"But what?"

"You said you'd only need one bedroom."

"Well of course. No need for you to sleep somewhere else in a different room. The second bedroom will be used to set up my lab."

"So—you want _me_ to move in with you?"

Sherlock looked dumbfounded. "You didn't get that from the start?"

"No,"

"Of course I want you to move in with me, John!"

John stayed silent as he processed this information. He looked at Sherlock, and looked back down, and finally took a deep breath. "Wow."

"Wow?"

"Yeah, wow. That's a big deal, you know."

"I know, and that's why I asked you. Unless—unless you don't want to move in with me?"

John didn't speak and Sherlock started panicking silently.

How _stupid_ of him to ask John to do this! How _stupid_! Of course John wouldn't want to move in with him! John wouldn't want to live with a sociopath in a crowded flat! John has his own life, and maybe he didn't want to share it with him. Oh, God. Bloody stupid!

"Never mind, John; it was injudicious of me to even ask such a thing—"

John's laugh startled Sherlock and the detective looked up at him, fearing rejection.

"You bloody _nitwit_ , you didn't even ask me properly!" John laughed, shaking his head. "You have to ask me correctly to move in with you. No beating about the bush; ask me straightforwardly."

Sherlock looked up and saw John's beaming face staring back at him. How he even doubted this loving man for _one_ second, he didn't know.

His courage and determination came back to him and he managed a smile. All the previous worries and uncertainties about asking John to do this with him vanished and Sherlock grasped John's hand.

"John Hamish Watson—"

"Dear God, don't even start with me on the Hamish. Skip that, you sound like you're proposing to me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but grinned adoringly at John. "John _Watson_ , will you move in with me?"

John smiled and brought Sherlock closer to his body. "Of course I will, Sherlock. You're an idiot for doubting me."

The detective didn't have the strength to insult John back, so he just hugged his partner harder and kissed John properly. "Thank you."

"Hmm-mm."

"When are we going to make plans?"

John continued the motion of running his hands in Sherlock's hair. "Plans?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm still going to have to attend uni. And you're still going to have to teach—"

"No, I won't teach at uni anymore."

Sherlock lifted his body up and gaped at John. "What?"

"It wouldn't be appropriate, seeing as you and I have a 'more-than-just-friends' relationship and have moved in together."

"So where will you work?"

"I have connections at St. Barts. They've offered me a job at the clinic since I came back from Afghanistan a long time ago, but I had declined the offer and picked up a teaching career. Sarah, my friend who works there, has promised to hold the proposal for me if I ever decided to come back. And I think now's the time to go back."

"Are you sure? Because I can drop out of uni and—"

"You will _not_. Not unless there's a valid reason to stop going to school."

Sherlock nodded and rested his head back on John's chest. "I'm dropping 3 classes from my schedule. Mycroft has contacted a D.I to 'train' me and improve my detective skills."

"You don't need any training, you're fantastic," John reassured him.

"That's what I _said_ to him but that cupcake-loving git doesn't want to listen to me. He has a crush on the D.I anyway so I guess it's very compromising for him."

John chuckled. "He _does_ love cupcakes, doesn't he?"

"Way too much for his own good," Sherlock agreed.

They ended up in a fit of chuckles until they both sighed contently against each other. It was now 1 A.M and they should probably be going up to bed; but they were warm and comfortable, and the tea that Sherlock had prepared had seeped into their bloodstream and warmed them up nicely. They both were feeling a little drowsy and tired, but too lazy to move.

"...Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" the young man answered drowsily, tugging up the fleece blanket that covered the couch over their intertwined bodies.

"Are you happy?"

"Of course I'm happy. I'm happier than I've ever been in my whole entire life. Why?"

"Because _I'm_ happy," John answered. "And _you_ make me happy. So I just wanted to make sure that _you_ were happy too."

"I am. More than I've ever been." Sherlock took a big breath. "I love you, John," he said quickly.

John smiled sleepily. "I love you too, Sherlock. Even though you can be a huge geek sometimes."

"No I'm not...you're the bigger geek, you geek."

The man smiled again and wrapped his arms lovingly around Sherlock.

They were too lazy to head up to Sherlock's bedroom and sleep.

The couch will have to do for tonight.

* * *

**OOOMMMGGGG this is so cute! Ｏ(≧▽≦)Ｏ I can't believe I wrote this cuteness, wow**

**I hope you guys enjoyed this! We're nearing the end of the story (gasp!) but yes! We're almost done! But of course you should always expect some twists here and there because you must know me by now. I love cliffhangers and plot twists so keep that in the back of your head. Are you happy with the relationship that Sherlock and John had built for themselves? They're so in love aren't they? :))) Aaahhh. I love how this turned out.  
**

**Please leave some reviews! Thank you darlings!**

**~Lissa**


	25. Chapter 25

The following morning came too quickly.

There was barely any time for breakfast or a shower before Mycroft's limousine pulled up to Sherlock's dorm.

Mycroft had wanted to discuss Sherlock's and John's arrangements with them face to face.

Kidnapping them was the easiest thing to do, according to the elder Holmes. He didn't care for arranged meetings and things of the sort. They were too _dull_ , as he liked to put it.

John wasn't yet used to the Holmes's kidnapping tendencies. He was a little wary of the car that had pulled up in front of the door, but after a few reassuring looks from Sherlock, he had agreed to go inside.

"Brother dear," Mycroft greeted Sherlock as he got in. "and John. How are you?"

Sherlock shrugged, and took a seat. He looked at Mycroft up and down and a small smirk grew on his face. "Looks like someone lost a bit of weight."

"5 pounds."

"No cupcakes then?"

Mycroft shook his head and opened the small cabinet in front of him, pulling out a few papers.

"No bonbons? Chocolate sundaes? Cotton candy, banana pancakes...nothing?"

"No, I assure you, I've stuck to my diet plan. Sit back."

Sherlock scoffed but sat back in his seat anyway, crossing his arms defiantly.

"How do you do, John?" Mycroft politely asked, offering the teacher a glass of wine.

John took the glass, careful not to spill anything as the car jolted from left to right, and smiled back at Mycroft. "Good, thank you."

"I hope this little meeting of ours isn't a disadvantage to you. I know you must be very busy."

"Yes, seeing as it's almost exam season again. But I've got my work done already. I just wish you could have informed us before you decided to...kidnap us, I should say."

The perplexed look on Mycroft's face almost had John laughing.

"What would you have preferred me to do? This is my most reliable way of getting people to talk to me."

"Well, maybe calling up the person and arranging a date and time for you to meet them would be nice."

Sherlock and Mycroft simultaneously scoffed and rolled their eyes. " _Dull_."

 _Great,_ John thought as he sipped his drink. _Not only do I have to deal with Sherlock, but now his brother as well. I wonder if this is how they act around each other at home._

"Of course this is how we act at home. Don't be so insipid, this isn't like your usual self."

"How did you—"

"Your face gives away what you think, John."

Mycroft nodded and turned to Sherlock. "Have you noticed—"

"—How he licks his lips when he's thinking? Of course I have, he does that all the time. Partially when he's telling a lie, too."

"I do _not_!" John said, trying to defend himself. He unconsciously licked his lips and instantly realized that when Sherlock and his brother shared an all knowing look.

"Let's just get down to business, alright?"

"Of course."

"I understand that you and Sherlock have decided to live together for a while—"

Sherlock cleared his throat and glared at his brother. "Not for just a _while_. We've decided to live together. End of story."

"Right. Now, John, pardon me but I don't see why you would want to live with Sherlock. He's rude and messy, absolutely arrogant and a big pain in the arse, pardon my French."

"Yes, I know," John smiled. "He's a bit of a jerk as well. But I really do love him...I can't explain it. He completes me."

"Don't get all lovey dovey with me, Dr. Watson."

"I don't know why you don't understand, Mycroft," John retorted. "Aren't _you_ dating someone?"

Mycroft's eyebrows rose up. " _Me_?"

"Yes, you. Sherlock has told me about a certain D.I."

Mycroft turned a lovely color of red and turned to Sherlock. "I've told you to shut up about Lestrade and me!"

"Ah," Sherlock mused. "So there _is_ something going on between you two. Is that why you've enlisted him to become my personal...instructor, shall I put it?"

"No. He's just a really good person and I was hoping his wonderful manners would rub off on you," the elder Holmes explained in a rush. "That's all. I don't even know him personally."

The young detective turned to John and smirked. "Now who's the one telling a lie, John?"

"Surely there's something going on between the two of them. I'd like to meet him, this detective inspector," John said as he took another sip of wine. "He sounds endearing."

"Oh, wait till you see pictures of him," Sherlock laughed as he ignored Mycroft's threatening looks. "Mycroft has got some on his cellphone. He seems the type of guy he would go after."

"I don't go after guys!"

"Sure you don't," Sherlock reassured him. "I'm sure you have a beautiful girlfriend waiting for you every day at home."

"Well," Mycroft started to say, turning up his nose haughtily. "Maybe I do."

"Oh? Who is she then?"

"Her name's Anthea."

"Oh don't be stupid, Mycroft. I know very well that Anthea's your assistant secretary. Or something of the sort, I can never be sure. I'm not even able to deduce anything about her, can you believe that? Her head is always bent down as she focuses on that phone of hers. And—"

" **Enough.** I didn't kidnap you two to talk about my 'love life' and my secretary's obsession with her phone."

"Then what did you bring us here for? Because if we're done talking, I was thinking maybe John and I could go eat breakfast at that bakery not too far from here."

"No. We're going to visit some flats today, and I'd like it if you both are here to decide on one. You two have been absolutely senseless to decide to live in a small dingy flat instead of a nice house, or maybe a good mansion—only if you'd let me buy it for you."

"That won't be necessary brother dear," Sherlock murmured. "I'm actually quite eager to go visit this flat. Have you seen it yet? Tell me about it."

"I won't need to, we've just arrived. See for yourself."

* * *

The three men had only just knocked on the door once, and a charismatic lady appeared at the door. She introduced herself as Mrs. Hudson and started to show them around the small flat.

Mycroft took a seat on one of the chairs and waiting quite impatiently for the tour to be over.

"This is a charming place for two young people to live," she reassured them. "It's very quiet and spacious as well. I live in the building too, so I'm just a few steps away if anyone needs anything."

She barely paused to take a breath before she continued eagerly, showing Sherlock and John the bedroom.

"This one right here's the master bedroom. I'm guessing you'll only need one?"

"One what?"

John coughed awkwardly. "One bedroom, she meant."

"Well, of course we'll be needing only one bedroom. There's only John and me."

Mrs. Hudson looked confused for a second before her face broke out into a soft smile. " _Aah_ , I see. Pardon me; I thought a lady would be joining you."

John flushed and turned to Sherlock. "There's no—I mean, there isn't—it's just Sherlock and—see, we're actually—"

"No no, I get it dear. I apologize for assuming the wrong thing. I don't mind at any rate. It'll be nice to have you two young'uns around the place, anyway."

Turning swiftly around and almost hitting John square in the face, Sherlock leaned over and whispered in his partner's ears.

"How do you like it?"

"It's really nice. I like that it's not too far from the tube and shops, and getting to St. Bart's every morning won't be a problem for me."

"Hmm," Sherlock agreed, a gleam starting to form in his eyes. "And the morgue isn't too far as well. This is perfect."

"What about school? Will you be taking the tube everyday too?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "You will never catch me in the tube, I can guarantee you that. No, I'm sure Mycroft would arrange something for me. Perhaps a driver would be picking me up from now on."

John nodded.

"So?" Mycroft barged in. "What's your decision?"

"Oh, we'll take it," John settled. "It's decided."

Sherlock smiled at Mrs. Hudson and started to wrap his scarf around his neck. "Good. I'll call you with the information."

"Sure thing, dear."

They made it out of the door a few minutes later after accepting a few scones and tea from the landlady, and hopped back into the car once more. Mycroft glanced at his watch and turned to his brother.

"We still have enough time to meet Lestrade. I have called him and we will be meeting him at Scotland Yard in about 10 minutes."

Sherlock wriggled his eyebrows.

" _Stop that,_ " Mycroft hissed through clenched teeth, his cheeks becoming a soft shade of pink. "I want you to meet him before you start working as a detective. He will fortify your detective skills further."

"I don't need any fortifying."

"It won't hurt. Everyone has a bit of space for improvement, you know that, Sherlock," John reassured him, patting his back.

"I'm not everyone," he whined back. "I'm sure Mycroft only wants me to meet him so he can drool over him at a safe distance."

Not even bothering to answer, Mycroft pulled out his phone and started typing a few things.

"Be polite when you meet him, Sherlock," Mycroft mumbled under his breath. "Don't try to deduce him all in one go. It's more fun to do it gradually, otherwise you'll get bored."

John frowned. "Wait—so Mycroft can do that deducing thing too?"

"Of course he can, who do you think taught me?"

Mycroft smiled genuinely at Sherlock, and John almost said something about it, but as soon as the smile appeared, it was gone.

"What about your father?" John asked. "Could he do that as well? And what about your mum?"

"Our father could do it too. He did it in a more cruel way than Miss, though," Sherlock explained. "That's why Mycroft learned it from mum, and I from my brother. I would have been a hell of a lot worse if I learned it from our father."

"Who's Miss?"

Mycroft coughed uncomfortably and Sherlock averted his eyes.

"I meant our mum."

"You call your mummy Miss?"

"Sherlock, have you not explained this to him yet?" Mycroft asked in a hushed tone, so that the driver couldn't hear. "You ought to tell him about our childhood."

"There's a time for everything, Mycroft," Sherlock hissed back. "John, I promise I'll tell you about our childhood and growing up in the Estate and father and Miss one day. This just isn't the right time, and I feel bad because she's still sick and worsening."

"I know, and I understand. I didn't mean to bring it up. Don't feel pressured to tell me about this yet," said John. "Let's just focus on the present time, alright?"

Sherlock was a bit taken aback, as he expected John to explode and demand answers on the spot. He smiled and ran a hand through his partner's thick blond hair. "Thank you,"

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he watched his cold stone brother soften under John's touch. "You've really softened him up, John."

"He's a softy, deep inside. He isn't just sharp angles and high cheekbones and all."

Sherlock huffed and turned away. "I'm not a softy."

"Are too."

"Are _not_!"

"Are too,"

" _Not_!"

"If you two are done arguing like a couple of three year olds," Mycroft interrupted. "I'd like to get out of the car now and get this meeting over with."

Sherlock snorted again and unenthusiastically followed John and Mycroft out of the car. They walked through a couple of buildings, where Mycroft haughtily flashed his VIP badge, before they came to a small office. Mycroft stopped there and knocked on the door.

"Detective Inspector?"

There was a small rustling of paper and they could hear someone standing up. The door before them opened, and a face looked back at them.

"Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock crossed his arms and looked the man over. He was probably around 35 years old; unmarried, just stopped smoking. His hair was a mess of salt and pepper (undoubtedly due to stress), and he was a man about Mycroft's height, if not a little taller. He was a good looking person, and Sherlock could see why Mycroft fancied him. A quick look to his left confirmed his suspicion; Mycroft was looking quite intently at the detective inspector. John glanced at Sherlock and smirked.

There was an awkward silence before the D.I coughed. "Uh, hi. I'm Lestrade."

"Is that your first name or is that what you want people to call you?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the sharp jab he received from John's elbow as he asked this question.

"It's what I want people to call me," he responded. "But my first name is Greg."

Sherlock didn't answer.

"I suppose you're Sherlock," Lestrade said, extending his hand for a handshake. "I've heard a bit about you."

Sherlock gingerly shook his hand and nodded. "So how long has it been since you've stopped smoking? You're doing a good job, by the way."

Lestrade looked baffled for a second before he regained his wits. "Uh, four weeks. It's a bad habit I've been trying to break."

"You'll get to it. I've been clean for 5 months myself."

Mycroft snorted and muttered under his breath, "Let's just hope you're clean of everything."

After hearing that, Sherlock sharply turned around and glared at him. "I assure you, dear brother, that my body has been clean of any recreational substances that I may have injected _or_ smoked in the past 3 years. I haven't done anything since the beginning of uni."

"Either way, you know Lestrade _will_ have to be doing frequent drug checks. It's only part of his job."

"You don't trust me," accused Sherlock. "You'll have to, one day."

"Today is not that day," Mycroft chuckled.

Lestrade smiled awkwardly and glanced at John.

"You must be Watson," he said. "Pleased to meet you."

"Just John is fine, thank you. And it's a pleasure to meet you as well."

"I'm guessing I'll be seeing a lot of you as well?" Lestrade asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure you will be. Sherlock likes to drag me everywhere he goes."

"So, are you two, uh—" Lestrade made a suggestive indication with his hands. "You know."

"Wait—what?!" John exclaimed. "No—I mean, yes—Sherlock and I, we're dating."

The D.I nodded and managed a smile. "Okay. I just didn't want to get in between of what's happening with you two."

Sherlock sighed and flopped down on one of the chairs. "So, are there any other people that I'll be seeing a lot of?"

"Uh, yes. Let me just call them over."

Lestrade excused himself and walked out of the office, only to return a few moments later with a lady and a man in tow.

"This is Sally Donovan and James Anderson.* They work on the same team as I do, so you will be seeing them often. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to—"

There was a sharp intake of breath as someone gasped.

"...Sherlock?"

Everyone's heads whipped around to see who had spoken. The man Lestrade had introduced as Anderson was now staring intently at Sherlock, his mouth open in a slight gape as he took in the sight before him.

" _Bloody hell_ , is that you, James?"

"Wait—you two know each other?"

The D.I's question was left unanswered as Sherlock now stared at the man standing before him. The memories came crashing down and he remembered everything; this person; this **man** standing before him was none other than James Anderson.

James Anderson, who had kissed Sherlock and run off, leaving the detective flustered and _confused_ out of his mind.

The same man who was now standing right in front of Sherlock, sporting the same damn hair style that has driven the detective absolutely crazy just a few years ago, wearing the same kind of clothes and having the same figure and face and _every single feature_ that Sherlock had fallen for 5 years ago.

"Well," Sherlock said awkwardly. "It's a pleasure to see you again, James."

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this update!!!! :)

* Anderson's first name was never revealed in Sherlock BBC, so I took the opportunity and named him James!


	26. Chapter 26

There was an uncomfortable silence as the two men watched each other attentively. James looked awe-stricken; his face had paled noticeably and his hands kept on fumbling with a nonexistent button on his coat. He didn't know what to say, other than to nod slowly at Sherlock and return the piercing glare.

"How do you do, Sherlock?" he finally managed to spit out.

"Very well, thank you. This is a very nice coincidence, isn't it?"

"Sure is."

Sherlock nodded a few times, taking the moment to rake his eyes over James' body and face, cataloging a few things. "How long have you been working here?"

"Few months, give or take," the man answered uncomfortably. "Uh—you?"

"Don't be daft; I'm still a student at uni, unlike you. How's the new girlfriend?"

James' face paled again and there was the unmistakable sound of a chuckle coming from Mycroft.

"How did you—"

"It would take too long to answer, and I'm not so sure your primitive mind would comprehend. I might as well introduce you to everyone else," Sherlock said, turning around. "This is John."

John nodded as he acknowledged Anderson's presence in the room, and the man nodded back.

John didn't say much as he observed the man standing in front of him. There was the unmistakable look of discretion and curiosity in John's pale eyes, and he moved a little closer to Sherlock. He would later say that it was a mere subconscious act to move closer to his partner, but the detective had obviously noticed it; Dr. Watson was protective of him, if not a little jealous.

"Nice to meet you," he politely said, shaking Anderson's hand. "Any _friend_ of Sherlock is a friend of mine."

Sherlock cringed as he heard John recite the overused saying. If anyone knew John as much as he did, they would know that from the start that John didn't like Anderson.

Not one bit.

The way he stressed the word _friend_ and the look of wariness as he regarded Anderson with his sharp eyes was plain to see. Mycroft had picked up on that too, if not Lestrade as well. Everyone except Anderson and the lady standing next to him had picked up on John's protectiveness.

"And he is your...?"

Sherlock frowned. "What?"

"I mean—" Anderson sputtered, his face flushing as he tried to avoid the words 'boyfriend' or 'partner'. "John, he's your, uh—"

"You're acting absolutely childish. That's just John; he's _my_ John," Sherlock practically hissed. "That's all there is to know. For you, anyway."

Anderson raised his hands as if surrendering and backed away.

The lady next to Anderson (Sally Donovan, was it?) was now squirming a little. She coughed a few times and excused herself, claiming she had a bit of filing to do. James agreed with her and together they clumsily said goodbye and just about ran out of the office.

"Well," Lestrade laughed. "This was certainly interesting."

"Indeed," Mycroft immediately agreed. "I don't think I've ever seen baby brother this uptight."

John hummed in agreement as well, and to that Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Can we just go home now?"

"Not before you tell me what just happened. I'm a bit lost, I must confess. I'm not used to being like this but as you can see—"

"Blah blah _blah_ ," Sherlock mumbled, causing John to chuckle softly, his laughs suppressed behind his soft woolen scarf. "No one cares. Let's just leave."

Lestrade whistled and shook his head. "A bit feisty today, aren't we?"

"I'm pretty sure anyone would be a little shaken up if they happened to be in Sherlock's position," John said, trying to calm down the detective a little. "But I'd like to know what just happened as well."

Sherlock looked around the room, meeting 3 pairs of eyes staring intently at him, begging him to explain. He finally sighed and gave in.

"We went to school together a while back," he mumbled.

"Did you? I don't remember him at all, Sherlock. Does Mis—does _Mummy_ know anything about him?"

Lestrade frowned. " ** _Mummy_**?"

"No, of course not. Why would you think I'd tell her? There wasn't—we didn't—there wasn't ever anything between us," Sherlock tried to explain.

"I'm lost," John confessed.

Lestrade nodded. "So am I."

"He was just...you know," Sherlock tried to explain without his face flushing in embarrassment. "The first guy I ever liked."

There was a minute of silence as everyone drunk in what Sherlock just said, and suddenly a loud guffaw exploded from Lestrade, followed shortly by John.

"Bloody **hell** , Sherlock," Lestrade laughed, bending over. " _Anderson_? You wanted to shag **_Anderson_**?!"

"Shut up! I was only 15 or 16 at the time, I didn't know any better!"

"Oh _God_ , I'm **never** letting you hear the end of this," John laughed even harder. Sherlock just turned redder by the second and he crossed his arms and turned away from John.

Even Mycroft chuckled as he watched his little brother become embarrassed. "I'm sorry little brother, but they do have a point. I don't see what you saw in him. Granted, you were just a young teenager back then and you were probably just driven by hormones—"

"Shut _up_ Mycroft, or I'll tell Lestrade—"

The D.I's laughs lessened as he overheard his name in a conversation and looked at Sherlock and his older brother. "Tell me what?"

"Sherlock I swear, if you say anything—"

"You'd what?"

"I'll throw away all your experiments. Done, all in the garbage. They'll be gone by the end of the hour."

"You wouldn't _dare_ ," Sherlock hissed.

"Oh, trust me, I would."

"You stupid _git_ , I'll burn down the cupcake factory. Let's see what you'll say after that."

"I'll tear up your coat. And not the normal one you wear every day, the nice one—the one with the blue cashmere."

A gasp erupted from Sherlock. "I'll run over Anthea's phone."

"Don't you _dare_ bring Anthea into this!"

"Oh yeah? Well I just did. Say goodbye to communicating with your little puppet for a good two weeks!"

"Say goodbye to your bloody _scarf_ then! I'm giving it away to the first three year-old I see with grubby hands."

"Mycroft Holmes, you wouldn't _dare_. My scarf is made of imported silk from China and stains would never come out—"

" _Oooookay_ , that's enough, girls. You've both been acting like a bunch of two year olds all day. Let's just go home. Nice to meet you, Lestrade," John smiled, quickly grasping Sherlock's coat and power walking out of the office, the two bickering men in tow.

Lestrade looked unbelievably at his office door for a while, not believing what he was seeing. He heard them shout abuse at each other as they walked through the building, until he couldn't hear them anymore.

His radio erupted with static as the security guard told him that Mycroft Holmes was just leaving the building.

"Copy that," he answered, sitting back in his chair.

He would have to have a talk with Anderson, obviously, since Sherlock was going to become part of their everyday activities. Not that he would mind. Sherlock and John were interesting, and it would be nice to have them stick around for a while.

And Mycroft too, of course.

He's cute.

* * *

As the three men exited the building, Anderson and Donovan were just sitting down in front of a small restaurant to talk. Sally was very agitated as she took a seat in front of her boyfriend, her brows furrowed in worry and her hands fidgeting with the buttons of her purse.

"Tell me, James," she manages to say. "Who was that?"

Anderson took a deep breath and ran a tired hand through his hair. He didn't know what to tell Sally - he must admit what just happened looked really bad. He loved her, he didn't want to upset her in any way, but Sally was a very agitated and anxious person.

It took her months to get her to finally start opening up and trusting him, and he didn't want all of that to go to waste.

"It was no one babe, just some guy I went to school with a while ago," he reassures her.

She didn't look convinced.

"That wasn't just _no one!_ I saw the way you two looked at each other! Something must have happened that you aren't telling me about."

"You know, back in school...us guys would...experiment," he rushes out. "No biggie, that was stuff we did back in the days. He was just..."

"Just _what_?!"

"...Sherlock was just...an experiment, baby. That's all he was."

Sally stayed silent for a while before the creases of worry on her face eased a little. "Just an experiment? Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure, babe," Anderson cooed, brushing his hands over her face endearingly. "Just a little experiment."

"And what did you conclude from that experiment?" she asked, her voice softening a little.

"Nothing. I don't like guys, and I certainly don't like Sherlock."

Her eyebrows raised a little. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Good," Sally breathed out. "He's a bit of a freak anyway."

* * *

**Oooh, tiny chapter! It's finals week here and I'm a little overwhelmed, so here's a small chapter for you guys! I could see some of you were a little panicky over James and Sherlock and you probably couldn't wait to find out what would happen...hope you liked it! Hopefully I'll have time to make a longer chapter for next week, and if any of you guys are taking finals too, I hope this chapter has brightened up your mood (just a tad bit) :) Thank you!**

**~Lissa**


	27. Chapter 27

Three weeks later, after endless hours of moving and cleaning, John and Sherlock were somewhat settled in into their new flat. John had quit working at the university and Sherlock has been spending more time working with Lestrade and his team than at school, although that had upset Mycroft and Mummy to some extent.

John had started working at the hospital, and he looked a bit livelier every day. He would come home and tell Sherlock of the gamut of people that walked into and out of the hospital, describing them and their ailments so precisely that Sherlock would have no problem deducing them just from John's descriptions.

That was what they would do in the evening, after Sherlock was done running around rooftops, escaping Mycroft and chasing down criminals. They would sit in the living room and watch crap telly, with steaming cups of tea on their laps, and tell each other about their day.

John liked working at the hospital. He preferred the bustling and the fast paced action that often went on in the Emergency Room than the slow paced happenings of Uni. He liked to be helpful and he liked knowing that his actions and quick thinking might go on to save someone's life.

He made friends at work really fast - there was Sarah, Elisa and the new nurse-in-training from across the hall, Matthew. There was also the girl that he and Sherlock had seen a while back at the Café, the young girl with blonde hair that had served them croissants and coffee. Her name was Molly and in addition of working in the Café, she spent Monday mornings and weekend evenings in the morgue. She was studying to become a Medical Examiner and would often spend time in the morgue, practicing autopsies on the bodies that came into the room, her teacher watching over her carefully and making sure she wasn't making any mistakes.

Molly was young and skittish, and John guessed that she was around 18 years old, until she revealed to him that she was a bit older than that. She was 24 and had the mind of an expert - she could spend hours fixated on the task set at hand for her, and other times she would become a giggling mess and would flirt with the young apprentices that often accompanied John.

But other than that, John's life rotated around work, home, and Sherlock. Mostly Sherlock.

Sometimes, John would accompany the detective on his wild escapades with Lestrade and the team.

He wasn't very fond of murders, blood and dead people, due to his very brief encounters with the likely in Afghanistan, but he went along just to please Sherlock. He knew the young detective liked to brag and show off, and if he wanted to show off and brag to someone, it would be to John and John only.

After spending so much time alongside Sherlock, it wasn't very surprising that John picked up on Sherlock's detective skills. He was able to make a few deductions, and although they were a bit slow and took a bit of time and thinking from him, they never ceased to please Sherlock. They were sometimes very blunt and obvious, (something that even Anderson would be able to figure out), but the fact that they came from John made Sherlock appreciate his partner's efforts a whole lot.

Sometimes though, John would pick up on things that even _Sherlock_ wasn't able to pick up on. Sherlock's mind would always be racing at a million miles per hour, and that caused him to miss a few obvious things. He was always thinking out of the box that he missed some of the most noticeable and silliest clues that always seemed to be hiding right in front of his nose.

John would then point them out - not in a rude and uncouth way, but more of like a little nudge. His voice would soften a bit and he would point things out softly to Sherlock, and Sherlock's mind would snap to attention and vivacious shouts of "Brilliant!" and "Of course, it's all so apparent!" followed next.

John would them beam and smile to himself, because those were some of the only praises that Sherlock would give to him. Ever since he had called Sherlock and his deductions brilliant and amazing, Sherlock would reserve those choice words for his partner. Nothing was ever brilliant, amazing, fantastic, or intelligent _unless it came from John._

Whenever Sherlock was bored or had had enough of running around on rooftops, he would sneak into John's office and 'borrow' John's set of keys to the morgue. He would hide out there and practice whatever devilish and absurd experiments he had in mind until John would realize that his set of keys were missing. Then, John would head straight to the morgue and find Sherlock mesmerized by whatever he was staring at in his microscope. He would take his keys back, plant a kiss on Sherlock's mop of curls, and head back to work.

Sometimes in the evening they would go down to the small restaurant at the end of the street for dinner. Well, John mostly ate and Sherlock played around with the food on his plate, but they called it dinner nonetheless.

They usually didn't talk, because there was nothing to be said, and they enjoyed each other's company silently, sometimes locking eyes across the table and sending each other smiles of appreciation and contentment. Sherlock would ask that any leftovers were put in little take out plates for them and they would head back to their flat, sometimes hand in hand, if Sherlock was feeling up to it - (which was always.)

The landlady, Mrs. Hudson, often brought them biscuits or little cakes after they come back from dinner, and doesn't mind stopping once in a while for a cup of tea. Even after reminding both men that she wasn't their maid or cleaning lady, Mrs. Hudson never refused the opportunity to tidy up their flat a little.

Not that it wasn't spotless and clean most of the time.

John, Sherlock discovered, was a complete neat freak. He was the complete opposite of Sherlock when it came to cleaning and organizing, and John would spend an hour or two every week thoroughly scrubbing the flat clean of various stains and remnants of experiments that Sherlock had conducted.

The flat would smell of lavender and cleaning products and John would stand in the middle of the living room, hands on his hips, looking proudly at his handiwork, with Sherlock seated in his favorite chair, feigning looks of disgust. He would pinch his nose and beg John to open a window or two to let the smell of clean linen and floors float out, but John would only ignore him and head to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

The flat would stay clean for a few days before Sherlock manages to mess it up with an explosion of some sort, and they would be back to square one. John didn't mind.

What had also become a familiar and usual sighting in 221B was Mummy.

Mummy, who was still in her weakened state, never neglected visits with her son and his partner. She would often come to pass the day with the two men; and during those days, John would call the hospital and take a day off, because he knew how important those visits meant to Sherlock and his mum.

John knew that Sherlock's mother was sick. He didn't need to be a doctor to notice her pale skin, her thinning hair and bleak eyes. He didn't bring up her illness to Sherlock, because he knew that Sherlock _knew_ that Mummy didn't have a lot of time left.

When she came over, she sometimes brought old photo albums and would sit down on the couch with John.

The albums were full of pictures of Mycroft's and Sherlock's childhood. There were family pictures and school pictures; there were also a few pictures that Mummy (or perhaps a family member) had taken.

Some pictures made John's heart swell with joy, like the picture of Mummy handing a young Mycroft a small bundle that must surely have been Sherlock. Other pictures made John look away with unknown fear and wariness, like the official pictures of Mr. Holmes or the photos of the vast and empty estate.

Sherlock hated those albums, but he let his mum show them to John, because he thought that John deserved to know about his childhood, no matter how horrifying and bleak it had been.

John would bring cups of tea for the both of them, and he and Mummy would look through the old albums together. They didn't always talk, because they both knew there was nothing to be said; whatever had happened was in the past and there was nothing they would do about it except to look at the faded pictures.

Sometimes Mummy would chime in with a little back-story whenever an unusual picture showed up, such as the picture of young Mycroft and Sherlock in bathing suits in the middle of their exquisite and lavish living room. The two little boys were a huge contrast to the background, with their messy faces and frowzy hair – and most importantly, their bathing suit.

Mummy told John that that day, the father of the household had gone away on a one day trip to France and she had told the kids that they were free to do what they wanted.

Mycroft and Sherlock had put on their bathing suits and went swimming in the lake behind the estate. They rode the horses in the mud and played in the puddles of stagnant rainwater, and after they were done playing, Mummy had given them ice-cream and they rushed in to sit in the living room. The servants exclaimed at that, worrying that they would stain the expensive silks of the couches and chairs, but Mummy sat back and let them do what they wanted to do.

John sometimes thought about that picture.

He thought about Mycroft's messy red hair and Sherlock's black locks of curly hair falling into his face. He thought about Mycroft's stony face, a face that probably had never known laughter or joy. He most importantly thought of Sherlock's dead eyes; eyes that shouldn't have belonged to a child of 4 years old. Eyes that were free of curious sparkle and innocence, and instead replaced with **nothing**.

He didn't like that picture – it gave him shivers down his back whenever he thought about it. He never brought it up to Sherlock either, because he didn't think Sherlock would remember such distant memory.

But Sherlock did remember some things – and most of the things he remembered fondly were of his mother and the friendly servants.

He remembered the food that Mummy used to cook sometimes, and the little poodle that used to follow him around the house. There were friendly cooks and cleaning ladies that used to sneak him and Mycroft pieces of sweet candy or little packages of chips and fish from town. Those things might seem so simple and common to any other person, but to two little boys growing up in a strict and cold household, they offered a small taste of what the outside world was like.

But that was the past and they were in the present, and Sherlock didn't think about his past anymore. He was happy and he was with John, and that's what he needed in his life.

* * *

**I liked this chapter! Hope you guys did too! :)**

**~Lissa**


	28. Chapter 28

On top of assisting Lestrade and his team solve cold cases and catch criminals, Sherlock Holmes still went to school.

He'd rather stay home with John and haul the man along on trips over the country, searching for clues and criminals and other macabre things, but Mycroft had insisted that he spend at least 2 years in uni before he decided what to do with his life.

Sometimes Sherlock skipped school and went to St. Bart's instead. He sneaks into the morgue, where Molly worked part-time, and helped her perform autopsies and examinations on the dead bodies. In a way, he considered that learning. It was much better and less boring than school, and he did enjoy spending time with another person who matched his extraordinary mental capabilities.

Things ran smoothly in 221B. Life for John and Sherlock was perfect, if you didn't mind the countless numbers of 'accidents' that came out of Sherlock's experiments.

According to Sherlock, the casualties "weren't a big deal".

Just a few burned curtains, exploding ovens, small outbreaks of slightly genetically mutated cold virus and one or two escaped kittens back from that time when a client brought her cats over.

Ah, yes.

The kittens.

Strangely enough, Sherlock had taken a liking to the little creatures. John was a bit shocked, because he didn't see Sherlock being an animal-loving kind of man. He knew that the detective didn't like anything that was small and furry and could easily get caught in his experiments, and that the only animals he would tolerate were dogs.

But when this client had offered Sherlock a small kitten as a 'thank you' for helping her with her case, the young man had accepted the little cat without batting an eyelash.

And that was how the little kitten became part of John's and Sherlock's life.

John had been wary of the animal at first. He wasn't really fond of cats and he thought that maybe this would be just one of Sherlock's week long obsessions, and that the cat would find itself back in its mistresses' arms in no time.

But to his surprise, Sherlock kept the kitten and named him Schrödinger. John had tried to persuade him to call him a different name - maybe Tom, or Ollie - anything but _Schrödinger_ , yet the detective had refused.

Schrödinger was a strange little animal. He was sleek and had black silky fur, much like Sherlock's hair, and had piercing green eyes that reminded John of how Sherlock's eyes looked in the sun sometimes. In fact, the cat was like Sherlock in many ways. He was restless, and often liked to sulk for days on end without a single plausible explanation.

He grew bigger over the passing months and become a cunning, sharp-witted cat and Sherlock simply adored him.

When summer came, it became very quiet in 221B; no big cases (the nicest one they had was merely a 5 and a half, according to Sherlock), and nothing to do all day except look over cold cases and lounge around in bed with Schrödinger and John.

So when the doorbell rang at 6:15 P.M a few weeks later, John knew that this case wouldn't be like any other one they'd had before.

After the bell had rung and the client had knocked on the door twice, John barely looked up from his papers and nudged Sherlock with his feet. "Client, Sherlock," he mumbled, turning the page.

Sherlock sighed and ran his fingers across John's hands.

"Their knock on the door was weak. Seems like it could be a 3, maybe 4 and a half if I'm lucky. Not worth my time."

Schrödinger meowed in disagreement and stretched his lithe body across John's stomach, effectively knocking the newspaper out of the doctor's hands.

"Schrödinger seems to disagree," John said, picking the cat up and dropping him on the other side of the bed. "Go see who's at the door and if they're boring, come back to bed."

Sherlock groaned but stood up anyway, thumping down the hallway and stairs, finally reaching the door.

When he didn't return a few minutes later, John started to get worried. He threw his hands in his bedside drawer, pulled out his gun, and slowly walked out of the room.

The flat was completely silent as he approached the living room. He stayed close to the wall, stopping to scan his surroundings every few seconds until he saw what was going on.

Sherlock was putting the kettle on.

Confused, John put the gun under the elastic band of his pants and walked into the kitchen.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Sherlock looked up. "Hmm? Oh, right, yes, of course I'm alright. Just making tea for our guest. Or client, I should say."

John frowned, turned around and saw a man sitting on his chair. The man was dressed in an expensive Westwood suit, and had black hair slicked back to show his prominent facial features. He looked important, almost as if he worked for the government.

John began to wonder whether he was one of Mycroft's friends before the man spoke.

"Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" he asked, flashing a toothy grin at John.

"It's just a gun, but that doesn't mean I'm not happy to see you," John replied, not batting an eyelash.

The answer must have been a surprise for the man, because he looked taken aback for a second before regaining control of his facial expressions.

Sherlock heard John's snark remark, snorted in laughter, and walked into the living room with three cups of tea.

As he handed the stranger a cup, the man spoke again. "No sugar, two teaspoons of milk."

"Hmm," Sherlock cocked his head. "No. You're low on blood sugar; the tea will do you good."

Again, the stranger seemed impressed.

"Jim Moriarty," he said in a sing song voice. "Hi!"

John flinched but busied himself with drinking his tea so that the man wouldn't notice. There was something wrong with that voice, and it sent shivers running through John's body and down his back. The man spelled danger, he was obviously perilous, and he knew Sherlock was always attracted to danger; which was why John had a bad feeling about this man, and felt the need to sit as close to Sherlock as possible.

Jim noticed.

John took a deep breath before looking straight into the man's black eyes. "What do you want?"

"Tsk, John Watson, is that the way you treat all your guests?"

"You're not a guest, you're a client. And no, that's not the way I treat our clients either, but there's something about you I can't put my finger on – and I don't like that. So I've decided not to trust you."

Jim smirked and leaned back into his chair. "You're funny, I like that. Better watch out, Sherlock, I think I'm beginning to have a little man crush on your ~ _Joooohhnnnn~_ "

The doctor turned furiously to Sherlock. "Sherlock, who the bloody hell is this?"

The detective hadn't moved from his position on the chair, not even when John furiously turned to him and demanded answers. His eyes were fixated on the stranger and his hands formed a steeple under his chin, and he looked at the man with such intense fascination that John started to worry even more.

"That," Sherlock finally breathed out, "Is my assassin."

John felt like the air was knocked out of his lungs. He looked again at Jim, who was pleasantly sipping his tea and darting his eyes back and forth at him and Sherlock.

"Your **_what_**?"

"He said _assassin_ , John. Keep up," Jim said as he rolled his eyes.

Sherlock didn't move a muscle and still kept his eyes rapt on Jim's face, cataloging all the information he could deduce about the man in his mind palace; which unfortunately wasn't enough.

When Jim moved his hands to put his cup back on the table, John's hand automatically reached for the gun in his pants and he wrapped a hand over the cold metal, ready to strike if Sherlock gave him the all-clear.

"Careful," Jim purred, eying John's hands. "You don't want to hurt someone with that."

"What the bloody hell do you, want, Jim Moriarty?"

Jim pursed his lips and pretended to think for a while. "I was thinking maybe we can talk," he said, cracking his knuckles. "I was going to kidnap you and strap a bomb or two on you and wait for Sherlock notice his dear doctor missing, but I'm feeling a tad lazy today so I've decided to just talk."

John didn't know what he meant by 'talk', so he kept his hand around the gun and settled himself in a position so that if Jim were to strike, he'd have him dead without moving hurting Sherlock.

Jim eyed the gun with a bored expression and feigned a yawn. "You might want to be careful with that, John Watson. I have five men and backup outside if you were to do something ungraceful. I just want to talk, that's all. Pretend I'm a client."

"Did someone hire you to kill me?" Sherlock asked, speaking for the first time in five minutes.

"Hire me? Oh, honey, there is no one out there special or important enough to hire _me_ for something."

"Irene said –"

"Irene?" Jim pursed his lips. "Oh, you mean The Woman. Well, she's gone bonkers since she's been having it off with that waitress-coroner-in-training girl. Can't trust what comes out of her mouth anymore. Pity, she was quite an interesting person. Time to move on, I guess."

Sherlock visibly gulped but kept his eyes steady. "What do you want? Do you have a case?"

"No, not quite," the man said, a smirk forming on his lips again.

"Is this about Jeremy?"

"Are you talking about that foolish boy?" Jim rolled his eyes. "He came running to me a few months back, asking for 'protection'. He wasn't valuable enough to protect, but he has some good skills – and a big ego, if he thinks he's good enough to break into Ms. Adler's home with no problems. But nope, not him, think again, darling."

Sherlock sat dumbfounded for a while before Jim's face broke out into a full-face grin. "This is about _you_ , darling," he purred.

"Me?"

"Hmm, you and your delicious little doctor. Yes, I think you two would be very valuable to me, if you're willing to do this."

John's throat was dry; he couldn't form words, but somehow he managed to clear his throat and look at the man properly.

"What do you want?" he asked again, resisting the urge to snap the man's neck in two. He didn't like the way he was looking at him and Sherlock; like a wolf salivating as he observed his next meal.

"I want..." Jim started moving his finger towards Sherlock's arms.

"Sherlock..." His hands trailed up the detective's frozen hands, slowly tracing circles on the pale alabaster skin...

"...To work..."

"...For me."

Something in John's mind snapped and in the blink of an eye, he had Moriarty's hand locked behind his back and pressed between the floor-boards, effectively mobilizing him. He knew he had successfully knocked the air out of the man's lungs and stunned him for a second, and he half expected a group of men to barge into the flat and start shooting.

But nothing happened, and the flat was silent except for the harsh breaths that came out of John's chest and the pained hiss that escaped Moriarty's clenched jaw.

Sherlock hadn't moved from his position at all, and he stared at Moriarty and John with captivated eyes full of attention and thought. He was calculating and cataloging their every move.

"Careful, it's a Westwood!" Jim protested.

John only put more pressure on the man's back and shoved the hand he had locked behind him forward.

" _Oooh_ ," Jim purred again, twisting his neck to look at John. "You **_are_** happy to see me!"

Sherlock waved away the thought and shook his head. "No, that's just how it always is. You're not special."

Even though John felt his face burn red, he mustered all the energy he had left and pulled Moriarty up to his feet. He brought the man's face close to his and harshly whispered in his face.

" **Leave**."

Pulling himself up, Moriarty straightened up his suit and drained the last bit of tea left in his cup. Once he was done, he pulled on his coat and turned around once more to wink at John.

"You've got to admit, that was really sexy."

He then faced Sherlock and waved at him. "We'll be talking again, Sherlock."

"No, you won't," John hissed back.

The man just winked again and then he was gone.

Sherlock ran to the edge of the window to see him disappear into a black limousine, and once he was out of sight, he moved back to his seat on the couch and closed his eyes.

"Sherlock?"

"Not now, I'm in my mind palace."

John nodded and started picking up the tea cups to bring them back into the kitchen. When the detective sensed John's movement, he scowled and shushed him.

"No, don't go, your presence helps."

And so that was how John found himself sitting next to Sherlock on their double couch, petting a heavily purring Schrödinger for the rest of the evening and slowly into the night.

It was just another simple evening at 221B.

* * *

**I like to think that this is how Sherlock and Moriarty meet in this AU.**

**But, alas, Sherlock is growing up and soon this won't be a teen!uni!lock AU anymore! So there probably will be one more chapter left and that will be it.**

**I'll probably add an epilogue! And if I'm feeling up to it, maybe I'll add a Part II to this AU...start a new story based on these early beginnings of Johnlock... but I don't know about that yet ;) Hope you enjoyed and please review! Thank you! ~Lissa**


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